Manifest Destiny
by kiku65
Summary: A Boba and Jango Fett AU, which starts six years before the Clone Wars. An old enemy turns up on Kamino, and Boba is kidnaped in retribution for Gardulla's death. Zam, Skitira and Vau all feature, and Anakin turns up later. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** If I owned Star Wars, I would be a lot richer. A **_**little**_** original dialogue used, but not much.  
****Author's Notes:**** Non-Basic English speech is in ((double brackets)). The title was borrowed from the chapter of a **_**Science of Discworld**_** book by Terry Prattchet that is about alternate universes.  
****Characters:**** Well, Jango and Boba obviously. Also Kal Skitira and Walon Vau, ARCs (with my personal favourite Fordo), Zam Wesell, Anakin and Obi-Wan later along with Yoda, Mace and a few other Jedi whose names escape me. Most of the characters are canon, but by necessity some secondary ones are OC, and I swear on the souls of little Ewoks this contains no Sues. **

* * *

A bounty hunter must be free of attachments. 

This is not a mere philosophy. For a bounty hunter, to rely on anyone other than yourself is to invite death or worse to come to stay. The saying combines the ruthless practicality of a professional bounty hunters life with a simple truth: for them, attachments are dangerous.

Attachments can get you killed.

One who knows this better than most is currently on his way to a rain-soaked planet in the far Outer Rim, and he is the best bounty hunter still living in the galaxy. No contest. The last survivor of a warrior culture wiped out six years before, a pitilessly pragmatic example of his profession; he is the epitome of What A Bounty Hunter Ought To Be.

He came up with this realisation through long experience: he created the saying himself.

But...

He has broken his own code.

It should never have been made.

For the best bounty hunter in the galaxy is also a Mandalorian, and although this has not been very evident lately, for a Mandalorian family is everything.

He did not create the saying for himself, but for another. For his son. His _attachment_.

If he can break one of his rules he can break another, even if only by mistake.

Never leave a live enemy behind you.

* * *

Under the downpour of the permanent storms of the planet beneath, two beings watch the silver streaked grey atmosphere by a ship that has seen better days. 

"When's he comin' back?" one whinged, shivering under a heavy cloak. "Gardulla don't like to wait too long."

_Gardulla_, the other thought, _can follow her parent into hell for all I care, as long as she pays me first._

"You said he'd be back _today_."

The other does not answer, but stares up under a through the visor of a helmet veined with rainwater, like a storm in the night sky. He does not do this out of impatience – he is beyond impatience now. He has been for four years.

He looks up at the heavens because to look at the face of his companion would be to forget the money he will get from this deal, and simply smash the irritating creatures' skull to pieces.

"I ain't gonna stay out here if he ain't gonna _come_."

The other indicated his complete lack of interest in what his cohort did. The cloaked figure, saturated with freezing water, starts to make his way up into the ship, but a sound from his collaborator stops him.

The mask turns towards him as a metallic speck of light flashes down to the city. "He's here."

* * *

Jango Fett, last Mandalorian and best bounty hunter in the galaxy, docked his ship and hurried down the ramps. 

Kamino was isolated, inaccessible, and uninteresting to most beings in the galaxy, but that suited him fine. All of those attributes make it all the less likely that his base of operations... his _home_ will be discovered. What is _outside_ is not important, it is what is inside that counts.

He smiled under his silver-and-blue helmet. The last bounty he had taken had been profitable and well worth taking, but it had kept him away from his home for far too long. He made a silent promise that he would not be taking any more bounties for while.

Not that he needed to, really. The Kaminoans had compensated him well for donating his genes to build their army, in a certain practical sense he could have retired right then, four years ago, and never picked up a blaster again. But the thrill of the hunt drew him back into the galaxy, and so even though he had no real need to take the money of the rich, he still did. He could do nothing else.

The doors opened for him, and he stepped from thunder into a cool, white corridor of Tipoca City. Dripping and sodden from the storm, he walked briskly down towards the private living areas, taking off his helmet as he did.

Tipoca City consisted of a network of stilt structures that spanned more than a hundred kilometres along the planets' western equator, created in Alderaan Oversea style in order to combat the permanents bad weather of Kamino. The millions of Kaminoans who occupied Tipoca worked either with the cloning program or with the bureaucracy, and as Jango stalked down the corridors he would occasionally catch a glimpse of one, intent on some business of their own.

One of these fell into step beside him as he drew near to his quarters, a tall, serene Kaminoan with the grey eyes of an upper-class caste dweller. She was also probably the closest thing he could call a friend, through three years of working together.

"Welcome back, Jango. Was your venture a success?"

"Successful enough."

"He has just finished his supper."

"Good. He stayed up too late last time." _To my regret the next day_ was Jango's silent additive. Feeling something else was needed, he added "thank you, Taun We."

She nodded peacefully and glided away to wherever Kaminoans went in late night hours. He reached the door of his apartment and silently palmed the entry code.

Inside it was dark and silent, the occasional storm-flashes illuminating the room with an eerie yellow glow, highlighting a simple white table and the entrance to two rooms. He sat at the table and removed his armour, before placing his helmet carefully on the side and glancing around. No son in sight.

"Boba?"

There was a muffled noise. Jango looked again and hid a smile. A pair of bare and dirty brown feet was sticking out from under his bed.

"I wonder where my Boba has gone?" he said softly, getting up and padding over quietly to the bedroom.

"He'd better be hiding, my Boba, because his Dad's on the prowl..."

There was another noise.

"Boba had better be hiding, because his Dad always finds his prey." Jango stood by the bed and regarded the feet patiently. He should really try and make Boba wear his slippers indoors.

He sighed and walked out. "Oh no, I can't seem to find him..."

This time the giggle burst out without any muffling. Jango spun and pounced.

"Gotcha!"

Boba wriggled and giggled helplessly, one hand grasping on tightly to his stuffed bantha doll. Jango had brought two years ago while he had still been feeling his way along as a parent, and it hadn't left his sons' side since, becoming possibly the most cuddled animal in the galaxy. Thanks to his sons' early inability to pronounce Basic, it had acquired the name Bandy.

"Leggo!"

Jango regarded his upside-down son with a mock-fierce look. "What did I say about staying up late?"

There was an upside-down tongue poked out in answer. "I get to stay up 'till dawn and eat lotsa Puff Cake!"

Jango suppressed a smile and started to tickle the soles of Boba's bare feet, provoking a squeal. "When Dad says it's bed time..."

"...Boba goes to bed," his son finished with an inverted resigned look.

"That's better." He put down his son and pointed towards the second bedroom. "March!"

Boba ran for it. Jango waited until he was out of sight before starting to grin openly.

* * *

"Daaaad?" 

"I'm coming."

Jango got the glass of water from the sink – it saved time in the long run – and went into his sons' bedroom, putting down the glass on the bedside table, and pulling the duvet up to his sons' chin. He settled in the chair by the window with the air of a man with a lot of experience behind him.

Boba gave him a hopeful look over the edge of the quilt. "The Story?"

Jango smiled. There was only one story Boba ever wanted to hear.

"Once upon a time there was a Mandalorian who was good and brave and honourable, who lived on Concord Dawn. He was a Journeyman Protector, and his name was Jaster Mereel..."

Boba clutched Bandy tighter and drifted off to the sound of his fathers' voice. Nevertheless Jango continued, carrying on to Jasters' exile, his formation of the True Mandalorians, his years of leadership and his many victories. In stories, he pondered as he finished with Jaster's final words, you could concentrate on the _good_ bits.

He thought about it no further. Any memory of that day still hurt.

By the time he was nearing the end Boba's eyes were drooping, and when he had finished his son was asleep and dreaming the dreams of young children and animals everywhere.

Jango left quietly, although not without noting with a frown that there appeared to be a storm starting up outside.

* * *

The little man sheltering in the lee of the starship sneezed and shivered, but he didn't dare go back up the ramp. His partner had made it infinitely clear that he was not welcome in there at the moment, and the man wasn't brave enough the risk his wrath even with the intensifying rain and occasional gusts that tried to push him over the edge. 

Finally, after what felt like a century of shivering and sneezing, he saw the wet gleam of black armour detach itself from the night and walk towards him. "It's time. Go and get him."

"How'm I supposed to manage _that_?" he whined, icy water trickling down his cloak hood. It had to _midnight_, nearly. He'd been out here for _hours_.

"Do I care? Just get it done."

Too afraid to argue, he nodded and sneezed again, before making for the door.

"And remember to move the ship when you're finished."

The man didn't bother to turn and reply.

* * *

"Dad?" 

With a weary sigh but a tolerant gaze, he looked at the boy in the doorway of the first room. "Boba, you should be in bed."

His son stared at him with an innocent look, before holding up his hands. "Pick me up!"

Hiding a smile, he obliged, feeling small arms wrap around his neck and a tousled mop of hair nestle against his own. "You deserve a good smack for being a naughty boy, you know. It's past midnight."

Boba snuggled deeper into his fathers' embrace, clutching at Bandy.

"Lights banging outside," he murmured sleepily.

Jango sighed. Boba's sensitive hearing would be good for his future profession, but it didn't make his fathers' life any easier now, and it only added to the little boys' fear of lightning.

"I'll stay in the room," he promised, "and make sure they don't get you. Alright?"

"Uh-huh." Yawning wider than a Hutt, the boy made no process as he was carried back to his room.

Boba stirred as he was laid down gently and tucked in. "Dad?"

"Yes son?"

He reached up with a tiny hand – had his ever been so small? – and touched the scars on his fathers' face gently. "Why did you get all scratched?"

Jango stared down at the little boy, imagining what he could say. _You see, son, before I could ask for you I had to go after this bounty, and she had a lot of followers who engaged in recreational torture..._

No, he was too young... far too young to know of the evil the galaxy could spawn. There would be time to learn when he grew up.

"Some bad people did it," he said. "A long time ago."

Boba's eyes widened. "Will they come back?"

"No, Boba, they won't. I made sure of that."

This seemed to satisfy him, and he snuggled down without further protest. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Did it hurt?"

Jango paused, wondering how to explain. "Yes, it did," he said finally. "But Boba, pain is just the body's way of telling you you're injured. After that you can ignore it."

"Ok." His son smiled and hugged Bandy close, his eyes flickering shut. "G'night Dad."

He fell asleep almost at once, while his father, true to his word, watched over him. The sky outside rumbled, the tank on the window bubbled gently, Jango's armour and eyes got steadily heavier as the minutes passed. Still, he kept watching. There was nothing he found more relaxing than watching his son sleep.

Finally he let himself realise that he would need rest as well, getting up and rubbing his eyes. He hesitated as he stared down at the little boy.

It was amazing that something so small and fragile could be so infinitely precious, worth more than all the bounties he had ever taken. If he did nothing else in his life, he had done something wonderful when he had asked for Boba to be created.

He ruffled Boba's curly hair. "Sleep well, son."

Jango emerged from the bedroom almost as tired as his slumbering offspring. Outside the thunder growled, eating away at air and sea alike in its eternal hunt.

A knock sounded on the door. Immediately on the alert, he shifted his blasters around in their holsters and said "come in," expecting to see Taun We with a request from the Prime Minister. Damn Kaminoans never seemed to take a nap.

The ones who entered were as unlike Taun We as is possible for a sentient humanoid to be. In place of her lofty composure was a stocky, middle-aged man in an old leather jacket, his body carrying scars that could probably rival Jango's own, and he radiated a sort of permanent anger against the universe, as if itching to chastise it for not getting things right. His name was Kal Skitira.

Jango relaxed, but not by much. "What the hell are you doing awake at this hour, Skitira? Those Nulls keeping you up?"

"No, they're sleeping as deep as I ought to be." The older man scowled. "There's someone who wants to see you on landing pad ten."

"Who? Dooku?" Jango instantly reached for the discarded armour, his mind racing. Apart from Dooku, who else could have discovered this location?

"Not him, but might be an associate. Little _chakaar_ of a man with Ranat eyes and a squealing mouth."

Probably a minion. "I'll go deal with him," he promised.

"Want some company? Might be an unfriendly customer."

"I can handle one Ranat," he said matter-of-factly.

"Suit yourself. I'm going back to bed, so don't bother yelling for help." Skitira's tone was dry.

Jango paused at the door, helmet under his arm. "_Kal'verd_, if I ever have to yell for help I doubt you could be of use anyway."

* * *

Mandalorians have – or had – a creation myth called Akaanati'kar'oya, The War of Life and Death. While viewed as a parable, it summarised basic Mandalorian philosophy of life, as it told of the eternal battle between Arasuum, the god of changelessness, and Kad Ha'rangir, the god of destruction. 

Mandalorians believed that destruction caused change through anarchy, and so looked for new opportunities in devastation. Jango Fett knew this better than most. As the only Mandalorian still living, he was the _only_ one who knew this, outside of a few Republic historians.

Later he would recall the myth and reflect bitterly that always, change followed at the heels of havoc.

Chaos had come to Kamino.

* * *

Landing pad ten held nothing when Jango got there, as bare and empty as the deserts of Lok, and as quiet despite the storm that had raged only minutes before. Suspicion set in instantaneously. 

_It's a trap_.

Jango scanned the area – such as it was – using both his helmet HUD and his own eyes, drawing one of his pistols as he did so. For a man who had held a gun since the age of seven, caution was more than just a trained response; it was a way of life.

The slick surface of the platform showed skid marks, as if something very heavy – and very big – had taken off and scraped the surface while it hauled itself into the air. Thinking perhaps whoever it was had hidden themselves under the lip of the pad, he walked cautiously to the edge. A raging sea of harsh spray and tossing crests glared back up at him.

"You know, Fett, that may just be the last stupid mistake you ever make."

He turned, and saw nothing.

"At least, it will if _I_ have anything to do with it."

A shape stepped out into the storm, drawing the night behind it. Like a shadow of the Mandalorian he faces, it stopped on the pad and drew a blaster in an almost identical fashion to his preys'.

For a moment Jango almost didn't believe his eyes. What stood in front of him was impossibility itself. The dead come back to life. Revenge arrived from the realm of chaos.

Worse, it had come _here_. _Here_, with his son sleeping in a room not half a city away... half a city too close.

"You have no idea," said the shadow with a quiet as deadly as a coiling snakes', "how long I've looked forward to this."

Jango found his voice.

"Montross," he said softly.


	2. Chapter 2

Rain beat on the window, drumming its drops onwards in its conquest of the city. Lightning crashed with a report like the onset of a planetary bombardment. Boba woke, and whimpered.

"Dad?"

Wide-eyed, he looked around. There was no-one there.

But he _promised_ he'd stay!

"Dad?" he snivelled.

Lightning crashed again. Boba pulled the covers over his head and, clutching Bandy to his chest, huddled down shivering. The sound of the tank in the corner bubbling away, holding his pet sea-mice, didn't sooth him like it usually did.

Where was Dad?

* * *

Jango had learned over the years that if you must look up the muzzle of a blaster and into the eyes of the man behind it, then you should hope that the man is an evil one. 

Because the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you cringe. They want you to _know_ you're doomed. So they'll talk. They'll watch you beg. They'll want to look at your face as you realise you are about to die.

A good man will kill you without a word.

For the reason above, Jango hoped that Montross hadn't changed since they had last met.

"Looks like even brainwashed cultists can't stomach you, Montross"

The rain-streaked black mask hid any expression Montross might have had, but Jango got the impression his eyes narrowed. "I said the _best_ man would win, Fett."

Good. He hadn't.

Jango stared at Montross disdainfully, long enough for the others' fingers to twitch on the trigger. He noted the how Montross' left leg was slightly drawn up, his whole body skewed a little to one side, making the water run off in waves. Maybe those cultists had stomached _bits_ of him. "The best man _did_, Montross. I got the bounty. _You_ just got a Bando Gora welcoming committee."

"Good thing I've got a new bounty then." The man shifted around so he was nearer the centre of the platform, pushing Jango nearer to the edge. "You shouldn't have killed Gardulla, Fett. Her daughter was very upset about that."

_Blast_. Hutts had longer memories for insults than Mandalorians, and that was _very_ long. Even after he had sent Montross on his way to the void, he would still have to pay a visit to this daughter and persuade her to drop the grudge. Tedious.

"I'm right here, Montross. You can collect any time."

"If you say so, Fett," Montross replied as he pulled the trigger to the chorus of thunder.

* * *

Skitira limped back to his quarters, cursing his bad ankle with every step. The storm was one of the biggest in a long while, and was making the shattered limb ache abominably. All he wanted was a glass of something strong enough to stop the pain, a warm bed, and an unbroken night's sleep. 

A being turned the corner in front of him, and he groaned aloud. Of all the blasted luck!

Vau caught his expression. "I'm pleased to see you too."

"Oh shut up." Skitira hobbled onwards. "What the hell are you doing awake at this hour?"

"Probably the same as you." His tone was dry.

It was a fair enough answer. Skitira had woken due to bad dreams – he hadn't slept well since landing on this rain-soaked shithole of a planet – and Vau, for all he despised the man, was a soldier as well, and would probably have similar sleep problems with explosions of lightning outside his window.

"What was that?"

He frowned and looked back, ignoring the old soldiers' question at the sound that had cut through the rumble of the tempest. It sounded almost like blasterfire...

* * *

Jango was no fool. Mandalorian armour would protect him against any shot that wasn't from a starships' forward cannon, but the blow _might_ be strong enough to push him off the edge. 

Enter the jetpack. He shot up and landed lightly behind his attacker, drawing his own pistol on the way down.

Montross snarled. "Your lucks about to run out, Fett!"

Jango didn't bother to reply, but loosed off a volley of shots in short order, watching detachedly as Montross used his own jetpack to avoid them.

_That's true of one of us at least_.

Montross landed and rolled, letting rip a hail of blaster bolts as he ran towards the doors. Jango's heart almost stopped in mid-fight.

_If he knows..._

He couldn't risk that madman getting anywhere _near_ his son. Lifting his arm up, he took careful aim and smacked the bracer activator.

A thin whipcord shot out of the end, tangling Montross' legs and felling him and sending the mans' helmet rolling away. By the time Jango had got there a vibroblade had already flashed out and severed the line, but it had done its job. He was close enough now.

Montross glared at him and bared his teeth. "With blades then."

Jango drew his own, kicking his heels to loosen his boot spikes. "Looks like."

They attacked in unison.

Montross struck like a crystal snake, whipping his knife in an arc that would have slashed Jango's throat from ear to ear if he hadn't ducked and stabbed out with his own dagger. The other jumped back, narrowly avoiding evisceration as he flicked a feint at Jango's head and stabbed downwards towards his unarmoured stomach.

Jango caught the blade arm and swung it upwards, past his own helmet and into the face of his opponent, kicking out towards the man's legs as he did so. A quick twist saved Montross from a kneecapping, but not from a scored line on his lower leg, the blood quickly washed away in the torrential downpour.

He hissed, and came back even faster, flailing wildly as he stealthily drew his remaining blaster and aimed it low.

The shot whirred past Jango's hip, scorching a thin line across the cloth. Unhurt, he aimed a punch that cracked back Montross' chin, kicking away the pistol with his boot spikes, and stabbing for Montross' neck.

The strike impacted, but thanks to the earlier strike it hit Montross in the back instead of the chest. His jetpack exploded out a shower of sparks, throwing them both forward until Jango managed to skid them to a halt before the edge. Montross locked arms with him and they stood, practically on tiptoe with Jango's humming vibroknife straining for his throat.

Montross looked up at the mask of his death, and laughed unexpectedly.

"I'm not going anywhere Fett! Put some muscle behind it and stab me!"

Jango's eyes narrowed. _He's up to something. Or he's just plain crazy. _

"Come on Fett, what's keeping you! Don't you want to avenge Mereel?"

His grip on the vibroknife tightened. The man in front of him had betrayed Mereel, leaving him open to an attack that ultimately led to the Mandalores' death. Jango had seen him do it.

He had been the one who carried Mereel's body back to his men.

Montross seemed to sense his anger flare. He laughed again, spitting out rainwater at Jango's visor. "I was right, wasn't I? You _did_ get them all killed! You got the whole lot of them wiped out by _Jedi_!"

_Shut up_, Jango snarled silently, starting to lose his cool, _shut up shut up shut up!_

"We both betrayed him, Fett! _I_ got him shot and _you_ destroyed his men!"

With an almighty shove, he drove the buzzing tip towards Montross' neck, incidentally knocking them both forwards and parallel to the curving edge of the landing pad. Twisting in his captors' grasp, Montross avoided a slit throat by inches, palming a dead-metal weapon – Jango didn't bother to check exactly what – from his belt and slashing it where his opponent had been aiming for on _him_.

But that would prove a mistake, because the act of striking exposed a place that could be hit...

... If your opponent managed to twist to the side and came over and up with an underarm blow that sliced through your armpit and pierced your lung.

Which was exactly what Jango Fett did.

Montross staggered back, looking bemused. The dagger tore free in a spout of blood, twinned with the dribble that trickled past his lips.

He reached up and touched his mouth, looking at the red stain.

Then he laughed.

Jango had just enough time to think _completely mad _before the old ex-Mandalorian – still laughing – ran, and hit him square in the chest.

There was an eternal moment as the sky and sea reversed, before gravity took hold and the ocean reached up to swallow them.

* * *

On landing pad eleven– close enough to see the fight but far enough away not to become involved – a man with straggly mud-coloured hair and a soaked brown cloak peered through the curtains of rain at the next platform. 

No, he had not mistaken what he had seen. They were both gone.

_Blast_ that arrogant, violent _koochoo_ of a man! This had _not_ been in the plan! Lure Fett out and down him with one quick shot, that had been the idea – not gloat and get killed bringing him down!

Gardulla had wanted two things from this trip to Kamino, hence the two men she had sent. The first had been revenge for her parents' death, thus the presence of Montross, with his fighting skills and oh-so-useful hatred of Fett. The second had been another sort of recompense.

Jango Fett had been very well rewarded for the work that had coincidently caused the elder Gardulla's death, a straight five million for the death of Komari Vosa. Of course, the younger Gardulla wasn't stupid enough to think those credits would be kept in a sock under the bounty hunters bed, but if there was anywhere Fett was going to keep details of his accounts, it would be in his home, and five million was a reasonable enough compensation for a dead parent.

Thus the presence of Slee Grillip, the best slicer at Gardulla's disposal. Now the only person on Kamino who could pull this mission back into shape.

He scurried through the frozen rain to the outer doors, heading to where a map he had sliced out of the Kaminoan mainframe told him the private quarters were. It was late – so late that no-one was around, not even one of the creepy long-necks themselves. Well, that was fine by him.

Stopping at the first door along, he fiddled with the pad and, with barely a whisper, went inside.

* * *

Boba heard the footsteps outside his room and felt his mouth break into a smile of relief. Dad was back. 

Clutching Bandy to his chest and flinching at the new crack of lightning, he curled up in his bed. Dad would be real mad if he found Boba up so late. Now that he was here, nothing could get him. He was safe.

Nevertheless something kept the little boy awake as the footsteps padded around the room outside.

* * *

Jango felt the first shock of cold water like a slap. He had a sensation of pounding, thudding feeling on his helmet, followed by a roaring sound in his ears and a thumb against his throat... 

He looked through his fluid-choked visor into the eyes of Montross. And kicked out.

The other grunted as his foot connected with the bounty hunters' chestplate, but the death-grip didn't loosen an inch. The currents of the surface rolled on above the two struggling specks of life in its icy waters, rolling them over and under and over until Jango was dizzy with gravity pull and the lack of air.

Montross grinned, mouth still leaking a red ribbon of blood as Jango shifted his position, easing the hold on his throat and jamming his thumb into his opponents' windpipe. As they hung in the infinite night of the sea he inflated his chest and started counting.

_One...two...three...four..._

The ability of an average human to hold his or her breath is about three minutes. Jango, not being average in any way, could go up to four.

_Five...six...seven..._

The counting didn't really do much, except give him to concentrate on rather than the burning in his lungs and the ringing sound in his ears. He saw Montross' eyes start to mist.

_Eight...nine..._

* * *

Slee Grillip tipped out a box and swore as a collection of power cells fell to the floor. Blasted bounty hunter didn't have anything! Not even loose change in his pockets! 

Thoroughly annoyed he made a dispirited check of the drawers, hoping to find some old transfer units or credit chips that could provide him with a code to break into one of the bounty hunters' accounts. Luck was with him, a used data chip tucked away behind a damaged tibanna gas cell and what looked like the safety pin off an antique pistol.

Looking for more, he walked in the direction of the bedrooms. Unlikely as the possibility was of a metaphorical sock under the bed, it could be worth a shot.

He opened the door of the first and stopped as he saw a pair of wide eyes staring back at him.

Boba lay in petrified shock and stared at the strange man in the doorway, before he opened his mouth and started to scream.

* * *

_Ten...eleven..._

The grip on his throat relaxed, falling away limply. Montross' eyes grew glazed.

Jango kept counting, knowing he had to make sure.

_Twelve...thirteen..._

The light faded in the bounty hunters' eyes, as it had in the eyes of countless others who had been brave or stupid enough to cross Jango Fett's path. The corpse grew slack and started to drift away in the permanent currents of the Kaminoan seas.

Jango wasted no more time, kicking his feet and heading for the surface. But the fight had disorientated him, he could no longer tell up from down or sideways, nor see through the blackness around him where he should go.

He felt the water grow colder as his armour dragged him down, and he saw a trail of bright silver bubbles float up, thinking abstractly that they were rather pretty, almost like little moons.

The thought struck him quite suddenly that he probably going to die.

But there was a sound... he knew that sound...

His son.

His son was screaming.

Kicking furiously, churning the water to froth, he broke the surface into chaos. The waves were bigger than he was tall, and they were crashing against something... something he couldn't see...

Better get out fast. He smacked the activator on his jetpack.

There was a coughing sound, followed by a few wet sparks and the smell of booster fuel.

_Ah. That's not good. _

The next wave came and swamped him, pushing him down.

* * *

Grillip hastily pulled a handheld canister from his pocket and sprayed shockstun gas in its face. The boy slackened instantly. 

Creeping into the room, half-fearing the appearance of a vengeful bounty hunter, he approached the bed. The kid was dressed in what looked like light blue pyjamas, holding a stuffed bantha toy to his chest with deathlike grip. Like the rest of the apartment the room was plain and spare, but a few indications of habitation could be seen here and there – a box of crayons, a toy CloakShape starfighter, a holobook with brightly coloured pictures. There was even a tank in the corner, holding what looked like mice with flippers.

Grillip shot a nervy look over his shoulder, but no-one came roaring in, there was no sudden blaster bolt from the gloomy rooms beyond. Then it struck him that Jango Fett was really, truly and actually _dead_, and that the perfect way to recoup his losses was currently lying stunned on the bed in front of him.

He reached down and picked up the child, who stirred slightly and held his bantha doll closer to his chest.

* * *

_It would be very ironic_, Jango thought as he was sucked down into the freezing water,_ if my armour was actually the thing that killed me_. 

Deciding that it wasn't about to happen today, he struggled upwards, heading for the lighter grey in an ocean of murk. Hypothermia was already starting to set in, his hands numb with cold and unable to form anything but a claw.

He broke the surface and gasped down a lungful of clammy oxygen. Air had never tasted so sweet.

The armour may have almost drowned him, but it had also done him a favour. Instead of being swept out into the turbulent seas outside the city where his would-be killers' body was now floating, it had nailed him in place in almost the exact spot he had fallen in.

Of course he had no way of actually getting _out_ of the water, but maybe he should be more optimistic about things.

Oh, he must be getting hypothermia _bad_ if he was starting to think like that.

A wave picked him up and slammed him into one of the pillars. Pinned there by the rush of the cascade, he could do nothing but try to keep his head above the water and not be swept away.

As his extremities started to chill he saw something strange dangle from above him, barely visible in the poor light and his fogged helmet.

A snake? Did Kamino have snakes? Maybe it was an eel...

Neurons fired to life and he pushed off from the pillar in a rush. It was a rope.

Struggling, gasping, going under every second stroke, he thrashed his way towards the cord. His bones seemed filled with lead, each lift of his arms costing more energy than he had used in killing Montross, each kick of his legs tiring him more than a days hunt on Nar Shadda.

Coldness started to claim his limbs, darkening his vision. He could barely see the cable.

Memory kicked in, urging him not to give up. There was someone else. The little _chakaar_ of a man with Ranat eyes and a squealing mouth. He was_ down here _fighting an ocean, while that man was _out there_ in the city, who-knows-where and doing who-knows-what and...

His son had been screaming. _What had happened?_

Jango's eyes slammed open, and he grabbed the line in one paroxysmal lunge. The rope jerked and spasmed then started to pull him up, as he clung on through sheer will.

_Don't let go don't let go_

He felt his helmet whack the underside of the landing pad, doing nothing for his dizziness. Then he was pulled up, and over.

Skitira let go of the line with a _huff_ and collapsed, clutching his bad ankle and swearing through gritted teeth as Vau gathered up the rope in silence. Jango barely gave them a second thought, trying to push himself up and to the doors.

His treacherous legs gave out and he collapsed next to Skitira. The older man gave a harsh bark of a laugh.

"No use eh? Show's what _you_ know, _verd_."

"Boba," he murmured through frozen lips, "Boba, he's in trouble..."

Neither of them seemed to hear him. "We saw you go over and decided we couldn't have you dieing on us." Skitira stood up gingerly as he said so, cursing in Huttese as something clicked. He stumbled over to the sodden bounty hunter, checking him over. "Had a devil of a time finding you in the dark."

"_Dammit_!" he snarled, making them both stare at him. "The _other one_! He's _in there _with_ Boba!_"

Both men looked at each other at once, before Skitira said "Go. I'm not going to be much use with this leg."

Vau nodded curtly and ran for the access door. Jango retched and shivered, his lips blue. He ignored Skitira's attempts at making him stay, but pushed himself up as soon as his limbs could support him, stumbling towards the entrance like a drunken man.

"Fierfek!" Skitira cursed as his bad leg took too much weight in his pursuit of the reckless bounty hunter. "Slow _down_."

Jango was having none of it. He staggered onwards in a daze, through what seemed like an endless supply of white walls in an eternity of praying _don't let anything be wrong please, please, don't let him be hurt..._

As soon as he reached the apartment, and the grim-faced Vau standing outside, he knew all his prayers had been in vain.

As Skitira asked in a hushed voice what had happened, he walked in numbly. The main room had been turned upside-down, a litter of spare ration packs, tools, power supplies and odds and ends scattered carelessly across the floor. In a dream, he stepped into the shadowy bedroom.

There was the bed, its navy duvet rumpled back in crests and waves like the eternal seas. There was the box of crayons he had brought, the toy starfighter Zam had given them a year ago, the holobook borrowed from the library down the corridor and on an extended leave, the tank in the corner with the pet sea-mice in it.

He knelt by the bed, unable to speak.

Footsteps sounded beside him hesitantly. He didn't turn.

"He took Bandy with him," he said aloud, without realising. "That means he's still alive."

Vau's voice was quiet. "I know."

"I have to find him." Jango stood, noticing distantly that he was dripping water on the bedclothes.

"We can help." This was Skitira, appearing behind the taller man. "We can check the landing reports for today and see what ship was used. We'll help."

"Thank you." He turned and looked at the two men, not really seeing them. All he could see was his son.

His son, colouring with his crayons, playing with his starfighter toy, pointing at the colourful pictures in the holobook. Cuddling Bandy and wanting to be picked up. Laughing at Zam as she shape-changed into a display of a thousand different forms for his amusement.

Out there in a galaxy Jango knew first-hand could hurt a child without a second thought.

* * *

In the otherness of hyperspace, Grillip tucked the curly-haired child down in one of the ships thermal blankets and went back to his seat. The KR-TB Doomtreader _Hell's Anvil _shuddered in flight, as if protesting at the presence of the son of its old owner's enemy. 

Setting coordinates for Nal Hutta; he leaned back and relaxed, thinking ahead at the glory and riches that waited before him.


	3. Chapter 3

"You got it?"

Vau nodded. It had been a long night for them both, scanning the landing records to try and find any trace of the strange ships' make or registration. The other little Ranat of a man must have been one hell of a slicer, as the database had been a tangled mass of useless figures when they had first tried to wring consistency from it.

They hadn't complained, though. They knew there was at least one person worse off than they were tonight.

"He still in there?" Vau asked, gesturing out of the window.

"Never left." The shorter Mandalorian yawned, glancing out to where a KSE _Firespray_-class ship lay flat on its landing pad, its cockpit lights lit up. The day cycle was beginning, resulting in the sky turning a shade lighter, the rain slackening to a sparse drizzle. The storm had almost passed them over.

"He should get some sleep. He isn't doing anyone any good up there."

Skitira took the datapad and turned to leave. "If you want to tell _him_ that, go ahead. But don't expect me to rescue you when he throws you off the pad."

* * *

Jango was typing in a new access code when Skitira entered the cockpit, his face washed with blue light from the screen. He didn't look round as the older man cleared his throat. 

"We've got the ships' ID," he said quietly.

He turned. Skitira first noticed the eyes – raw from lack of sleep and an overload of worry. He recalled when he had first come to Kamino, a year ago, and seen the bounty hunter carrying Boba in his arms.

_He was my price. Worth more to me than the credits. _

For a mercenary like Jango that was a pretty big admission.

"A KR-TB?" he asked harshly.

"Yes. It transmitted the identity code _Glorious Jewel_ when it landed – and before that slicer wiped the records."

Jango closed his eyes. "Nal Hutta. They're going to Nal Hutta."

"It could be a coincidence..."

"No. That's where they're going. Montross liked to brag." He looked up at Skitira, still pale-faced from his ordeal in the sea. He hadn't paused to be treated for the hypothermia, but had immediately set off for the _Slave I_, and it showed. "He wouldn't have expected anyone to follow them. And they were working for Gardullas' daughter."

A Hutt. Kriffing wonderful. "You leaving now?" he asked, knowing as he did what a stupid question it was.

"I have to. He has a head start."

"A com call came through for you while you were here."

Jango shot up instantly, and Skitira cursed himself at the look of sudden hope on the bounty hunters' face. Of course he would assume it was about Boba, maybe a ransom demand or a threat, but still confirmation that he was in the hands of beings that _needed_ him alive.

"No, it was from some chit called Zam. Wanted to know how you were."

Jango's shoulders slumped, but then straightened. "Where is she?"

"Message came from Nar Kreeta."

"Tell her what happened, and to get to Nal Hutta."

Skitira almost gaped openly. Jango _never_ took partners.

"She's a changeling, Skitira. They're useful sometimes."

Oh, well, that would explain things. A shapeshifter might even the odds. "I'll send a reply at once," he promised.

"Do it. Look after things when I'm gone." Jango started up the engines before Skitira had even reached the crawlway.

"Jango..." Skitira hesitated, unsure of what to say. He had had sons – he _still_ had sons, in the form of his trainees, and the Nulls – and he wanted to say something comforting, to reassure the bounty hunter that it was going to turn out fine.

But Jango was no fool. He knew it probably wouldn't.

"Good luck."

Jango didn't reply, but Skitira saw him nod at the screen before the engines roared and he was forced to hurry out, as the _Slave I_ lifted and turned, eager to seek out its prey.

* * *

As soon as Boba woke, he knew something was wrong. Instead of his bouncy mattress, he was lying on something hard and chilly. Instead of his comfy duvet, there was something thin and a greyish colour, like a Kaminoan that hadn't washed since _forever_. Instead of his white-walled and cosy bedroom, he was huddled in a ball in a room that looked like the inside of his closet with a chair in it. 

And it was _freezing_.

The chair turned around and he saw the man in it. Boba noted the uncombed, dirt-coloured hair, the weak pale eyes, and the screwed-up expression like a rodent with a bright idea, and remembered what had happened.

Well _most_ of it, anyway. He remembered the weird man coming into his bedroom, then he had screamed and... he must have gone to sleep or something. Only he could remember a prickly feeling on his face, like he wanted to sneeze.

Upset, he got up and held Bandy in front of him like a shield. Why was this grown-up here? Where was he?

Where was Dad?

The man didn't look any happier to have him here than he was. "Kriff, you're awake. Probably gonna start bawling..."

Boba frowned. You shouldn't say kriff. It was a bad word. Dad had got very angry when he had said it, and even angrier with Zam when he had learned who he had learnt it from.

He was about to say so when a growl sounded, and he became aware of the empty feeling in his tummy. The man heard it as well.

"Oh jeez, now it's hungry. What the hell do kids eat?"

He was _really_ rude. Boba told him so.

The man just snorted, getting up out of the chair and going down a hole in the floor. "Damn kid telling me what to do..."

His voice faded into a distant mutter, coupled with a series of bangs. Frightened again, Boba huddled into a corner and pulled Bandy closer, trying to ignore the frozen feeling in his toes. He tucked the grey blanket around his feet and crouched down warily, determined not to show how scared he was.

The rude grown-up appeared again, holding some squishy packets of stuff. He tossed them at the corner, where they hit the blanket. "Here, eat these."

Boba picked up the packets, which squelched, and turned it over. There were no instructions or pictures he could use – so much for Zam saying that learning to read was useful!

The man watched and grew exasperated. "It's not that damn hard, look..." He tore open the top of one. "I thought kids _liked_ gelmeat."

Boba brightened up a bit. He didn't often get gelmeat. Dad said it rotted your teeth, so he always had to brush well after he had any. He opened the other packets.

Biscuits. They didn't taste very nice, but they were ok if he ate the gelmeat at the same time and mashed them together.

The man went back to the seat as he gobbled down his breakfast, getting food stains on his pyjamas, and started punching things into the screen before him. The room shuddered, making Boba jump.

It occurred to him that they were on a ship.

Boba had never been on a flying ship before, but Dad had told him about space travel and described how sometimes the shifts in forces sometimes made people want to puke. Maybe that was why he felt sick now.

He shivered and huddled deeper into the blanket. He shouldn't be scared. Dad would come soon. Then everything would be alright.

* * *

Jango could remember feeling this worried only once before, and he didn't like the reminder, perhaps because that time he had ended up carrying a corpse of someone he had cared about out of a battlefield. 

He tried to think of something else, but it always came back to Boba.

He hadn't _intended_ to become this attached to the kid. He was, or had been, the last Mandalorian left alive in the galaxy after the Battle of Galidraan, the last who knew the Code, who wore the armour, who could remember the stories and fight the same way. When he had asked for an unaltered clone, he had been asking for an apprentice, a way to carry on Jaster Mereels' legacy.

Then the baby had been placed in his arms and everything had changed.

_He was so little. _

Little, and helpless, and totally dependant on Jango. No-one had ever had to rely on him for anything before. They had _expected_ things of him, demanded that he find a bounty, or cover their backs in a fight, or... on the spice freighter he had spent four years trying to forget... do his work and not answer back. But they hadn't really _needed_ him. Even in the Supercommandos, he had not been indispensable, just valued.

But to Boba he had been – he_ was_ the whole world.

_He trusted me. _

It had been pretty rough at first. Jango hadn't had the first idea how to take care of a baby, other than what he had tried to learn from watching holovids. For some reason, those had left out getting woken up at two in the morning, or having formula burped up on your shoulder, or how truly disgusting a full nappy could actually be, even for a professional bounty hunter. There had been times when he had felt like taking the infant back to the Kaminoan decanters and screaming "you look after him! I can't do this!"

Then had come the day when Boba had for once taken his feed without complaining, burped contentedly, looked up at Jango, and giggled.

No-one had ever laughed at him before. No-one had ever _dared_.

He had stared at the infant for a moment in disbelief, while Boba had grinned toothlessly away, before asking out loud "What's so funny?"

The responding giggle had only made him feel stupid at asking a baby something like that.

_He smiled at me. _

It hadn't all been plain sailing after that of course. Those holovids had also neglected to mention the suicidal tendencies of young toddlers, especially when it came to shiny objects. Jango had locked up his armour, hidden his arsenal of weapons, and shut Boba in his bedroom while cooking, and had _still_ had to dive for the boy on an average of once a day.

And the toilet training... he _really_ wanted to forget the toilet training. And the tantrums. That stage hadn't lasted long, but it had been long enough. Boba had had a very penetrative voice.

Zam hadn't been help either. On the rare occasions she visited, she had seemed to derive a great deal of amusement from watching him run after his errant son, only taking pity on him a few times by getting the kid a new toy, or sitting him down with a holobook to teach him the Aurebesh.

_He called me daddy. _

It had sounded a lot better than 'sir'. And 'son' had sounded better than 'apprentice'.

Boba had learned the value of silence since his outbreak of giggles as a baby. Of course he had, he was a bounty hunters son. Things rubbed off on him, Jango's habits, and behaviours, and he soaked up information like a sponge. But sometimes he still laughed, and when he did, Jango had smiled as well.

He couldn't lose that laughter.

It wasn't that he couldn't _imagine_ losing it. He could imagine all too well.

Mandalorians honoured three things – loyalty to comrades, loyalty to the Mandalore, and loyalty to family.

His comrades were dead and he _was_ the Mandalore, technically. A Mandalore without a people. The only thing he had left was his family, which in truth was just one person. And that one person was now gone.

Perhaps permanently.

That was why he stared at the holonet transceiver screen and counted down the seconds until he emerged.

* * *

The re-emergence alarm on the _Hell's Anvil_ beeped, indicating an imminent drop out of hyperspace. Grillip sighed with relief, thankful that the journey was over. 

Not because of the discomfort. He was a _slicer_ after all, and he was well used to sitting in cramped conditions for hours on end with nothing to do but stare at a terminal screen. It was part of his job.

No, it wasn't that. It was the kid.

The kid was starting to spook Grillip. He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He just sat in the corner and stared at the slicer. It was that stare, Grillip decided, that was the creepy thing about him.

It wasn't angry or hateful; Grillip could have dealt with that. No, it was... _patient_. Yeah, that was it, patient. As if the kid was expecting something bad to happen to him, and was watching him to see exactly _what_.

Black streaks appeared on the cockpit window, and Grillip looked up gratefully. The planet of Nal Hutta and its five moons loomed in his sights, possibly the greatest haven for criminals since Taris. He headed towards the largest planetoid.

As he flew towards the Corellian Sector, shoving through a swarm of smaller ships and causing a YT-1300 to veer sharply aside, he felt the kids' eyes on his back. Irritated, he turned.

Boba looked back, stony-faced.

"He's not coming you know," Grillip said, wondering why as he did so. Maybe it was the stare that made him feel as though he needed to confirm the facts to a four-year-old. "He's dead."

Boba continued to stare.

"He's dead, you hear? Your daddy's dead."

No response. The kid might as well have been a statue.

"He isn't going to come," Grillip mumbled as he turned back to the cockpit window, now a little unnerved.

He aimed for an opulent house the uppermost level, guarded by Nikto and surveillance droids, along with a hefty alarm system. Pretty commonplace, at least where wealthy Hutts were concerned, and the Hutts who owned this palace were _very_ wealthy. Gardulla the Younger had rebuilt enough of her mothers' fortune to have been invited here from her inherited citadel on Tatooine, and her town house on Ryloth.

A gruff voice sounded over the ships' comlink. "_Hi chuba da naga_?"

He swallowed and pressed the activator. "It's me, Slee Grillip. I've come back from the job for Gardulla."

"_Oh, oh. __Coona tee-tocky malia?_"

"Just a little trouble. Tell her Montross won't be collecting his bounty."

The voice chuckled and switched off the link. Grillip guided the ship down through the temporarily deactivated energy field and pushed himself out of the chair, looking at the kid as he did so.

"C'mon, get up. It's time to leave."

Boba didn't move a muscle, apart around his eyes. Those narrowed.

"Look kid, I'm not gonna drag you. You either get up and follow or you get stunned and carried."

He got up, still holding the bantha doll. Grillip noticed the food stains on the boys' pyjamas and his tangled hair, but there was nothing he could do about those. Montross hadn't cared what his bounties looked like.

He reached out and grabbed the kids' arm, ignoring the muffled yelp that sounded beneath him as Boba was pulled up to match his height. He wasn't about to take any chances with the boy running off.

Grillip stepped out into the pollution and smog of Nar Shadda, hauling a reluctant bounty hunters' son along with him.

* * *

Boba wasn't showing it, but he was starting to get really scared. The brief glimpse he had got outside the ship and before they went into the luxurious mansion told him enough to know that he wasn't on Kamino anymore. Maybe he wasn't even in the same system. 

But was going to be ok, because _Dad was going to come_, and they'd go back together to Tipoca City and have dinner and he'd tell Boba the Story and then he'd go to sleep and wake up and play and see Zam and everything would be alright. He'd even be able to tell Taun We that he'd seen another planet and ridden in a strange ship.

And this was all going to happen because dad _was going to come_. The rude, scruffy man who was hurting his arm was a dirty liar, because there was no _way_ his Dad was dead. Dads didn't go around dieing. Boba wasn't sure exactly what dieing was, but from what he had picked up from hearing Dad and Zam talk and seeing one of his pet sea-mice die he thought it was like a really deep sleep.

Oh, and you got eaten by an eel, although Dad had never mentioned any of his bounties getting eaten by an eel, so he figured it was something that only happened to sea-mice.

Boba held firmly onto this conviction as he was led through luxurious corridors lined with inlaid murals and Alderaanian marble, down into a huge room filled with lots of beings that looked at them both very oddly. Lying at one end were three enormous bloated beings, each attended by beings waving fans or dancing in the space at the front. The dancers cleared as Grillip came forward.

He stared, unable to believe that he was seeing actual Hutts. Dad had told him about Hutts, in a tone both respectful and disapproving, because while Hutts posted the best bounties they were also lazy, greedy, and cruel.

The rude man bowed to them all, but faced the one on the far right, an obese being with a green-grey back and paler beige underbelly. It gave a great rumbling laugh as he said "Your wishes were carried out, oh powerful Gardulla. Fett is dead."

Incredibly, the Hutt seemed to actually _believe_ him, chortling again along with its comrades and most of the court. Boba scowled and clutched Bandy closer. They were all going to be in for a big surprise!

Gardulla rumbled something in its own language, which Dad had been trying to teach him but Boba didn't understand fully yet. Grillip looked cautious.

"I did get some old transfer chips, your greatness, but it will take a while for me to use them and crack his account." He added hastily as its corpulent brow furrowed, "On a brighter note Montross will not be able to pick up his payment, as he... erm... misjudged Fett a bit. They're probably floating around Kamino together."

This cheered the Hutt up, and she pointed with a flabby finger towards Boba. Grillip looked down as if he had just noticed him.

"Oh yeah... sorry your greatness. He's Fett's son."

Another rumble, this one with an air of command about it. Grillip swallowed and pushed Boba forward until he was closer to the Hutt than he really wanted to be. Boba was too polite to say how much the Hutt stunk, but he felt his nose wrinkle.

A chubby, moist hand patted him on the head. _Yuck_.

Gardulla chuckled and rumbled something else. Boba was able to pick up the Huttese word for 'half'.

"You are generous, your greatness. I know Fett was worth a lot."

Another rumble, this time sounding like a sharp order. A new pair of hands – these tanned and speckled with red spots – grabbed his shoulders, hurrying him out through a side door and through a passage into a set of smaller chamber full of female beings in scant clothing. They stared at him as he was pulled towards a table and sat down.

"What in space is _that_?" a blue-skinned Twi'lek exclaimed, as if she had seen a pink ronto materialise in her dressing room instead of a tired and hungry human boy.

The hands pulled away, revealing a stout woman with crested ruby hair and matching freckles. "Gardulla's newest buy. It's Fett's kid."

There was a shocked silence. "They stole _Fett's_ _kid_?" one red-skinned woman asked. "Are they _insane_?"

"That's all _you_ know, Leona. He's dead, girls. One of the slugs' bounty hunters finished him."

There were cries of disbelief, which Boba found reassuring. Of _course_ he wasn't dead!

"That's _impossible_!" an Arhan cried.

"Fett's the best," a human woman agreed, straightening her revealing skirt. "He wouldn't get killed by some deadbeat from the underlevels. He's too good."

"So why's the kid here?" the stout woman demanded. "You think Fett would just let some two-bit slicer like Grillip make off with his son?"

There was a sudden silence. The women all looked at each other.

"I can't believe it," said the Leona, shaking her head as she started towards the door. "He always seemed so indestructible."

"Everyone dies," said the human sadly.

"Poor beggar," agreed the Arhan.

Boba couldn't believe it. They actually _accepted_ the stout woman's lies about Dad!

"Dia, you get the kid cleaned up. I got to get back to the slug." The woman grabbed something out of the lockers and held it out. "Take this, he'll need them."

"Why me?" scowled the Twi'lek.

"You ain't due on for another hour. C'mon girl, I know you brag about that load of little brothers you had. Who else is gonna do it?"

Dia raised no more objections, although she didn't look happy as the others shuffled out without her. Boba heard the sounds of distant cheering as the last filed into the passageway.

The Twi'lek looked down at him and sighed. "C'mon kid, the baths are this way."

He followed her obediently. His head hurt from all the smoke and the effects of the biscuits and gelmeat were wearing off. Bath always came before dinner.

She stopped inside a room with a series of tubs set into the floor, twisting the nozzles of one until foaming hot water shot out. Boba heard her mutter about extravagance as he looked around, seeing the mirrors and the counter on one side and the shelves stacked with funny bottles.

Dia hauled off his clothes – made difficult by the fact he would _not_ let go of Bandy – and dumped him in the tub. Bubbles filled his nose, and he sneezed.

She smiled slightly as she started to scrub him with a flannel. "Poor kid. I bet you wish your daddy was still here."

Boba nodded in agreement, a burning tickly feeling starting in the back of his throat. He _did_ wish Dad was here.

She wiped the biscuits crumbs from his face and started to rinse his hair. "My little brother Jart would be about your age. Last time I saw him he was a tiny squalling thing in mums' arms." She sighed a bit as she pulled him out and started to dry him off.

"Ok, let's see what we got here." Dia opened the package, pulling out a black tunic trimmed with yellow, and a pair of dark pants. "No socks. They _always_ forget the socks. Arms up."

He obeyed. She pulled the tunic over his head and gave him the pants to put on while she rummaged in the bag. He shivered as she told him to sit down, lacing up a pair of shoes that were more like slippers. The new tunic left his arms bare, and was as thin as his pyjama top had been.

"Don't worry, you'll soon be heading somewhere a lot warmer." She grabbed his hand and led him out of the baths, saying "time for some sleep, kid. You look tired."

His stomach growled. She looked down and sighed again.

"Ok, fine. We'll go get some food first. Just don't mess up your clothes."

He nodded eagerly, scampering after her as she headed downwards to a room full of steam and nice smells – along with not so nice ones – and scurrying people shouting at each other. She talked a bit with one in a big white hat, before grabbing a bowl of green glop and putting it in front of him.

He tasted it. It was pretty yucky, but it was hot and he was cold so he managed to eat it all, even though afterwards he wanted to puke. She watched him yawn and gestured for him to follow.

"C'mon, I expect you'll be in with us."

They went up to yet another room, this one full of grey-clothed beds. She settled him in one nearest the door, pulling up the covers like dad had used to do and tucking down Bandy...

He felt the tickly burning come back into his throat, and started to sniffle. She noticed.

"Hey, kid, its ok," she said, putting her arms around him. He stopped himself from sobbing, because his dad was Jango Fett and bounty hunters' sons didn't bawl in front of people. But the tickling wouldn't go away.

He held back the tears until she had left and put off the lights. Then he started to cry.

* * *

Jango woke with a start from a dream about empty beds and darkness. Relieved to be conscious, he looked out and saw stars. 

The _Slave I_ had emerged from hyperspace.

He straightened up with a Mandalorian curse and steered the ship towards Nal Hutta. Of all the blasted fool things to do, falling asleep just before re-entry! He was lucky some hot-shot pirate hadn't taken out his engines and cut his throat.

Most of the planet was covered in bogs and muddy swamps, but there were Hutt residences scattered amongst this 'splendours', along with the port city Bilbousa. It was to one of these that Jango headed, landing towards the capital, and landing in a shabby second-class docking bay to avoid any unwanted attention.

There was, however, one person standing on the edge of the platform, dressed in a tight-fitting purple Mabari armourweave bodysuit with a veil covering her face. An open-cockpit speeder hummed on repulsorlifts by the edge.

Zam Wesell, in her secondary form of a reddish-blonde human female, looked stricken as Jango walked down the crawlway alone. "Damn it, Jango, I thought you'd catch them in space. That poor kid..."

"What precisely would I have done if I _had_ caught them?" he asked curtly as they walked towards the speeder. "The _Slave_ isn't a boarding craft."

She just shook her head sorrowfully. "I found a computer outlet in one of the Desilijic town houses. It holds all the docking records for the planet."

He jumped in and asked "how long will it take to crack?"

"About an hour, if they don't interrupt."

It was quicker than asking around, but not by much. "Get there. Fast."

"Don't need telling." She hit the forward thrusters and pushed off into the crowded city streets. "You're not the only one who cares about him you know."

Jango didn't reply.


	4. Chapter 4

Boba woke up puffy-eyed from crying and with a horrible stomach ache. Everyone was hurrying around the dorm and shouting, gathering up clothes and stuffing possessions into carry cases. For a moment he wondered if Dad had found them, judging by the general panic.

The human woman, blond hair mussed, spotted he was awake and hauled him out of bed. "Come _on_, kid, we're leaving! Grab that smelly toy and get outside!"

Scowling at her description of Bandy, he pulled on his shoes, unlaced because he couldn't do knots yet, and ran for the door. The spiky-haired solid woman was there, bawling at everyone to hurry up. She saw him try to push his way out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Kreth, its bloody chaos down here – Dia!" she yelled suddenly, "don't bother with those! Its time to go!"

They hustled out, making their way through a maze of corridors and out the back to where a yacht that filled the spacious launch flat was waiting. Boba's heart sank as he saw people going on board.

They were going away _again_. Dad would have to look for him even harder, and he'd have to stay with the smelly Hutt and all of these people who thought Dad was dead, even though he _wasn't_. Maybe he should just leave and find Dad himself.

He looked around for an escape route as he heard the stout woman say, "Where the hell is Grillip? He brought the kid here, it should be his responsibility."

Dai passed by with a bag almost as big as she was. "Leona said he was gonna stay and blow his credits in the Pit sabaac tables. She's staying with Bana's entourage."

"Blast it. Now we'll have to find another backing singer." She started to thrust Boba at Dia. "Get him on board; I need to go talk with Delia."

"I'm not your – hey _stop_!" she yelled, as Boba took the initiative and ran for it. "Stop him!"

Boba dodged a Nikto guard but tripped over his trailing shoelaces and fell down flat. A pair of strong hands picked him, and he started to struggle, screaming at the top of his voice.

The Klatooinian winced as a small foot connected with his leg, but managed to pass the toddler over to the red-freckled woman. Boba flailed harder and kept on screaming until she gave him a sharp smack round the head.

He stopped, more out of astonishment that hurt. No-one had _ever_ hit him before.

She put him down and glared at him. "There's more where that came from if you don't behave! Now stop behaving like a baby and get on board."

He glared right back, furious. He _wasn't_ a baby, he _wasn't_ going on board, and _she_ was a stupid fat woman with a face like a spotty Hutt!

He told her so and earned another smack, which hurt a lot more than the last one. "Your dad might have let you be rude, but now you belong to Gardulla you gotta learn some manners!" She started to drag him up the ramp, ignoring him as he dug in his heels and grabbed hold of the starships' ramp levers. He wailed as she pulled him off and took him inside.

There was a set of rooms at the back, filled with beds and obviously intended for servants use. She pushed him in the smallest and slammed the door shut behind her.

Boba hugged Bandy and quietened down, listening to the engines roar into life. It was almost time to take off.

* * *

Zam leaned back on her heals. "Nothing." 

Jango felt his chest grow heavy, and nearly protested _that's impossible_. Common sense told him that if Zam said there weren't any records of a KR-TB landing on Nal Hutta in the last two days, then no KR-TB's had landed on Nal Hutta in the last two days. He had made a mistake.

He hoped the mistake didn't cost him Boba.

"Hang on, look at this..."

He almost shoved her aside in his haste. "What?"

"Looks like some smuggler landed with a bust-up ship. Said he had to swerve and accidentally crashed into on of the satellites."

"So?"

"So he had to swerve aside for a KR-TB."

Jango _did_ shove her aside. "Six hours ago. That fits the time."

"From the report it looks like the ship was heading for Nar Shadda." She looked up at him. "It's worth a shot, that's for sure."

Not bothering to be careful, he ran for the door, carefully shut behind them to avoid suspicion. "It is. And I know where to look."

* * *

Boba felt the ship take off, and hugged Bandy to stop himself from sniffling. He was stuck here until they landed. And Dad still hadn't come. 

A small part of him started to wonder if maybe they _hadn't_ been lying, that Dad had maybe got unlucky or he had been outnumbered – _real_ bad, because he had been outnumbered before – or had just not been good enough, even though that was impossible...

... But he had thought it impossible that dad would ever let him out of his sight like this.

So either way something was very wrong.

What if Dad didn't come?

He tried to keep his hopes up. There was still Zam, or Taun We, or even one of the old men, like the one with the limp that sometimes visited dad and talked about something called the Nulls...

But he wasn't Dad. None of them were.

He _had_ to still be alive. He was Dad. He didn't get beaten. The women in the dressing room had known that, even if they had believed that lying old Hutt-woman in the end and said he was dead.

Boba had heard about the Force from Dad, who had said it was something the Jedi used. He didn't like the Jedi, and neither did Boba, but he had mentioned that some of them believed it was alive and controlled peoples' destinies.

Boba decided it was worth a shot. He whispered into the air.

"Please Force, bring Dad here real quick thank you."

* * *

Maybe the Force _did_ answer prayers, because it certainly seemed to be granting Jango an unusually large amount of luck. 

He had headed straight for the Corellian Sector, landing in an out-of-the-way docking area, and heading immediately for the nearest cantina followed closely by Zam. At the very first, the Meltdown Café, a chance conversation had led to some very interesting information – namely that a local slicer was flashing large amounts of cash down on the gambling tables of The Slag Pit.

With Zam in her human disguise and Jango with a cloak to cover his armour, they headed straight down. The dingy interior housed beings of all shapes and sizes, drinking, eating, arguing, and gambling on the tables that littered adjoining rooms like dropped rocks. Jango glanced around.

"Over there."

He looked to the place Zam was pointing to. A Zeltron woman was talking with a man with straggly brown hair and scruffy clothes. He waited until the human turned around, and he could see the man's screwed-up features and pointed nose.

"It's him."

Zam started forward, but he grabbed her upper arm in a vice-like grip. "_Subtle_, Zam! If the Hutt gets word that I'm here..."

She stopped, seeing his point. You'd have to be mad, or on spice, to steal Jango Fett's son, unless you happened to think he wouldn't be able to pick the kid up. As long as Jango was presumed dead, Boba wouldn't be treated worse than any other captive.

If they ever _did_ get wind of Jango's existence, the kid could be put in serious danger.

"What do we do?" she muttered sideways. He guided her towards the back rooms, commonly used for more private forms of entertainment.

"We wait here until he comes."

"What if he doesn't?" she demanded.

"He's with a _Zeltron_, Zam. He'll end up back here sooner or later."

She flushed, feeling dense. Thirty-four years old and Jango could still make her feel as young as Boba. On the other hand, he was a lot more experienced at this than she was, so their chances of success were upped by a significant amount.

And he made pretty good assumptions sometimes. Barely a quarter-hour had gone by before a pair of voices sounded outside their hiding place.

Jango moved at once, springing out like a sand panther and slamming the shabby little man against the wall by his collar. Zam pulled a blaster and pointed at the Zeltron, saying as she did "Bad idea, sister. You just let him deal with your boyfriend."

The other did as she was told, face fixed on the blaster muzzle. Jango twisted the man around to face him, and the rats' eyes widened in terror.

"B-but you're _dead_!"

Jango drew his own blaster. "You will be _amazed_ when you find out how wrong you are."

A sharp smell made Zam look down. A small puddle was forming at the man's feet.

The slicer started to gabble "I d-don't know where he is, I s-swear..."

"Liar." Jango tightened his grip until the others' voice choked off in a breathy squeal. "Where did you take him? I _might_ let you go if you tell the truth."

"I _c-c-can't_..."

The Zeltron stirred. "Who are you looking for? Your son?"

Jango dropped the man so abruptly he fell to the floor, swinging around and making the Zeltron take a step back. "You've seen him?"

"Small kid, dark curly hair, wearing blue pyjamas and carrying a toy bantha?"

Jango nodded, perhaps unable to speak. The Zeltron started to say something but the man cut her off. "Leona, Gardulla will..."

"I don't care about that slug. No-one should kidnap children." She kept her eyes fixed on Jango as she carried on. "Gardulla's taken him on as a slave. But she left a while ago for Jabbas' house in Mos Espa. Trying to do a deal before Ryloth..."

"How long?" Zam caught the desperate note in Jango's tone, and tensed. If she could hear it, then he must be in agony. She hadn't missed the way his trigger finger had twitched when he heard _slave_, either.

"I don't know... about forty minutes I guess, on the _Sun Dream_. I don't know exactly when they took off."

The Clawdite felt hollow. Forty minutes. They had missed by _forty_ _minutes_. If only they hadn't wasted time on Nal Hutta...

"Thank you." The bounty hunters' voice sounded strained as he turned towards the cowering slicer on the floor. "Do you need him for anything?"

Leona looked on coolly as the man started to babble with terror. "I'd like him alive, if it's all the same to you."

"It is." He looked at Zam and made a small motion with his hand. She holstered her blaster and headed for the door. "Slicer?"

He looked up, face twisted with fear as the bounty hunter towered over him. "If my son gets hurt during this then I promise..."

Zam had reached the door by the time the sentence was finished.

"... You will be the _first_ to know."

* * *

Nothing much happened after he had finished praying. The ships shuddered a bit, the room got colder, and Boba fell sleep, still holding Bandy close. 

He half-woke up when someone came in with a tray of food, but as soon as they left he turned back over and faced the wall. He didn't feel like eating green glop.

Much later more people came in and settled down in the cramped bunks. One stepped in the tray and said words that at any other time Boba would have told them off for, but he kept still until they were asleep.

He must have dozed off as well, because the next thing he knew someone was shaking his shoulder. He looked up into a worried blue face framed by two lekku.

"Kid, you haven't eaten all day. What's wrong?"

He closed his eyes. _Everything_ was wrong.

Dia shook him again, but he didn't open his eyes. "C'mon, you'll get sick if you carry on like this, and Gardulla don't look after sick slaves. You gotta eat _something_."

Trying to make her go away, he whispered "I wanna go home."

There was a pause. "I know. But you can't."

He felt tears leak into Bandy's fur. "I want Dad."

Another pause, this time longer. "I don't think you can have him, either."

Boba started to sob, trying to swallow the tears until he ended up hiccupping and getting Bandy as wet as the time he'd left the bantha out on one of the landing pads on Tipoca City. It had been the only time he had been without him.

There was a sigh, and he felt Dia hug him. She smelt strange, of soap and perfume and the weird smoke that had been in the rooms on Nar Shadda, but it was a good hug. It reminded him of Dad, and Zam.

"I tell you what," he heard her say softly, "I'll get you something to eat and then you can be good and ready for when your Dad comes. He might get mad at me if I let you starve, mightn't he?"

Boba sniffled, and nodded. She was saying the sot of thing Dad might, so he let her leave, and when she came back with a plate of Para-rolls and a glass of Ruby Bliel he ate and drank without complaining.

He was Jango Fett's son. That meant he didn't complain. And he never ever gave up.

* * *

Jango ran through a dark corridor, seeking out one door, one particular door, but no matter how hard he ran he never quite reached it, and he could hear crying ahead, but even though he was running as hard as he could he couldn't reach the source... 

...and the corridor was turning blue, the end was dissolving...

...into a cockpit window lit with cerulean spirals and a concerned green face staring at him.

As he watched the face shifted into a pinkish blob, which became Zam in her human form. The anxious expression remained, though.

"Bad dreams?" she asked. She was sitting in the chair that would have been – _was going to_ be Boba's. He had installed it only last week.

Jango nodded, wincing at the crick in his neck. "Bad waking," he mumbled past a swollen tongue.

She tutted. "You sound terrible. When did you last have something to drink?"

He tried to remember. "Before the cantina. Glass of water. With some rations."

"Which was yesterday. Wait here." She got up and climbed down into the back, while he tried to concentrate on his surroundings. He knew he should have gotten more sleep before Nal Hutta, but whenever he closed his eyes the dreams were so bad he was glad to wake up.

Zam returned with a bottle of something that formed a vapour when she pulled the top out. "Renan Irongut. I keep it for when I need to sleep deeply."

Jango shook his head. He _never_ drank while on a hunt. Those who did generally ended up dead.

"Oh loosen up; we won't there for at least another twenty-four." She produced a couple of mugs he supposed had been stolen from the supplies. "Come on, it'll relieve the nightmares. And it stops you remembering."

This time he took the mug, and a sip of the clear liquid. A taste like blaster afterburner hit his mouth, numbing his tongue.

Zam grinned at the look on his face. "Rumour has it you can clean off rust spots with it."

"I can believe that," he said thickly, but while taking another gulp. The spirit seemed to be helping with the ache in his gut.

She took a sip of her own, almost slipping back into her natural form with shock. "Kreth, I almost forgot about that kickback."

"I'm surprised," he said sincerely.

She sipped again, and shuddered. "So am I."

There was a moment's silence. Jango's glass was almost empty.

"He's only four years old," he said finally.

"I know." Her voice was as sympathetic as it ever got. He was surprised at how much that was.

"He tried to come with me once. Stowed away in the supply area."

"What happened?"

"Sneezed and got found out."

She chuckled, and refilled their glasses. "My daughter tried something like that once."

"You have a daughter?" It was the first _he_ had heard of it.

"Sone Wesell. All grown up now. Thinks she is, anyway."

He started to ask about the father, but stopped. It was none of his business, and the Irongut was working its magic on his eyelids, making them droop. He blinked rapidly and tried to stay focused.

No luck. Zam noticed his attempts and stood up somewhat unsteadily, pulling him up as well. "C'mon, I know where the cabin is. You need real sleep in a proper bed."

He swayed a little, but stayed upright. "I can sleep sitting up."

"Sure you can. That's why you look like a Gammorean's pounded you senseless." She pulled him down the ladder and towards the crew cabin. "If you get a bad back from doing that you might miss a shot one day, and then where will we be?"

_We_ not _you_, he noted. Blasted Clawdite getting idealess... ideas above her station.

Hmm, the stuff must be _very_ strong.

He didn't remember the rest of the journey, but he remembered lying down on a hard bunk that passed for comfortable aboard the _Slave_. He felt his chestplate being removed and a blanket being pulled over him. The lights dimmed.

A hand patted his arm in a friendly fashion. "I'll wake you when we get there. Good night."

"'Night," he managed to mumble before the Irongut took him off.


	5. Chapter 5

The ship was shaking and shuddering worse than usual, and Boba was bored out of his mind. He hadn't gone out of the room since the Hutt-woman had shut him in.

He jumped off the bed and started to explore. The room wasn't very big, barely larger than his bedroom in Tipoca City, and the beds hindered any attempt at real play. He looked at them and had an idea.

Pulling the blankets off one of the bunks, Boba strung them between his bed and Dias', making a tent. The he started to pull the covers off the others, draping them between the lines of three others on his side of the room, until he had made a tunnel across the room. Then he crawled inside.

It was dark and cosy inside, and perfect for playing explorers with Bandy as his trusty sidekick. He crawled through, until he heard the sound of the door opening and froze.

A displeased exclamation in Huttese confirmed his worst fear. It was the spotty Hutt-woman. Crouching down very low, he tried not to breathe. Maybe she'd go away.

A hand grabbed his ankle, and he screamed involuntarily. It hauled him backwards, despite a desperate grab for one of the bedsteads, and pulled him out to face the wrath of spot-face herself.

"Did _you_ do all this?" she asked furiously, not waiting for a reply "would you _look_ at all this mess! And just as we land as well!"

Boba thought it was quite a good tunnel, but he had wised up to spot-face and kept silent.

She dragged him out of the room, much to his surprise. "Time for you to stop sulking around in here, boy. Gardullas' going to her town house and _you_ are going with her."

"Not sulking," he mumbled, unheeded. Stupid spot-face.

She ignored him and pulled him out of the rear quarters into boiling sunlight that hit him like a wall. He gasped out loud, feeling the heat rise up through his thin shoes, making him hop-skip to stop his toes catching fire.

As his eyes adjusted, he looked around. The fat slug was there, along with Dia and some other dancers and a few toadies and _lots_ of Nikto and Klaatonian guards, all in a walled docking bay the same colour as the sunlight. The sky looked a bit hazy, and Boba could hear a thin whistle outside the docking bay that made him think wistfully of how the wind had shrilled outside his bedroom window sometimes. He had always pretended it was a ghost playing a pipe to make him go to sleep.

They inched out after the Hutt, slowing almost to a crawl in order not to overtake her. Gardulla insisted that Boba walk alongside her, much to his displeasure. He tried not to show his annoyance, and to copy Dad when he did his special talking-to-customers-face, but by the slugs' gurgling laugh he was failing dismally.

Boba looked around as they got out, and spotted something that made his eyes widen. Right in front of them – now to the side as Gardulla swung round to enter a specially designed hovercraft – was a maze of alleys filled with junk and sand so much it would take a Jawa, or a very determined little boy to wriggle through. If he could just get in there...

Gardulla rumbled something at spot-face, who towed Boba up through the worsening sand squalls. He panicked and struggled, knowing that as soon as he set foot on the craft, he would never ever get free.

Spot-face twisted his arm and slapped him. "Stop that!"

He bit her hand.

Swearing, she let go in shock, and he seized the moment. Darting out of her reach, he ran for the alleys before an indignant roar sounded behind him, and scurrying footsteps.

He ran just as hard as he could. If he could just get to the alley...

A hand snatched as his hair as he dived, but it missed, letting him writhe through the spare engine parts at the entrance and down the narrow road into freedom. Behind him there were angry voices and shouts, but a voice rose above the rest.

"Leave him. We can look for him after the sandstorm, but we _can't_ be here when it hits."

Not caring what a sandstorm was, Boba scuttled down the lane and into a maze of alleys.

* * *

Jango woke up with a splitting headache and a taste on his tongue that reminded him of rotten Thakitillo curds. He turned his head to one side and winced as a mob of Gammoreans started hacking at his inside of his skull with axes. 

He was going to _kill_ Zam.

Staggering out of the cabin he made his way to the tiny ship refresher, which was occupied. He listened at the door.

Someone – and he could guess _who_ – was being sick.

Ignoring the way the light seemed to stab through his head with hot needles, he went up to the cockpit and slumped down in the pilots' chair, closing his eyes. He heard Zam come up behind him and collapse in the other chair. He opened his eyes a crack and saw a greener than usual reptilian face.

"And _this_," he whispered harshly, "is why you don't drink while on a bounty."

She winced, and rasped "please don't shout. It hurts."

He ignored her, starting to feel more than little guilty. His son was out there somewhere, a slave to a Hutt, and he had been in here getting drunk with a beautiful wo... scaly female. He deserved this headache.

Zam seemed to read his mind on his face. "Jango, you won't help him by worrying yourself stupid and collapsing with exhaustion when you _do_ find him. We still have eleven hours to recover."

Jango just shook his head, still thinking of his son. Zam mistakenly thought he needed comforting.

"They might not be treating him badly;" she said reassuringly, "a Hutt wouldn't rough up a slave without a reason."

Clawdites are not known for their tact.

"He shouldn't be a slave _at all_," Jango snarled irritably. He didn't want to think about it right now.

"Voice of experience speaking?"

He glared at her, and she shrugged. "It isn't hard to tell. You looked ready to kill that little Ranat in the Pit when his girlfriend mentioned it."

He closed his eyes again. Finally he said "After they wiped us out. It was on a spice freighter."

"How long ago?"

"I got out just before the bounty on Vosa."

There was a heavy silence. "And Galidraan was...?"

"Six years ago. And yes, that _does_ make it two years, before you say so."

More silence. "I didn't think the Jedi did that sort of thing."

"They don't. They just kill you." He relented as she looked puzzled, as only a Clawdite can. "I was handed over to the Governor. He was... surprised when I came back for my armour."

"Briefly?" she chuckled.

"Not _that_ briefly. I wasn't about to waste time on him." He shut up for good, already regretting revealing so much. Not that it mattered. It was all in the past.

Except that the past was coming back to haunt him, wasn't it? First Montross, then Gardulla... he'd probably have the Death Watch on his back next. It was lucky that Dooku himself had killed Vosa, because by the looks of it the ones he took down didn't seem to be staying out.

Zam very wisely didn't say anything as he sat and thought about what he was going to do when he caught up with Gardulla... amongst other people.

* * *

The gusts were getting worse, so bad Boba could barely see where he was going half the time. Spitting out sand and avoiding the few people still out, he ducked inside an alleyway and almost ran into a group of young teenagers clustered around something in a jug between them. They jumped as he panted to a halt. 

"Look at that," said a red-haired boy in surprise, "it's small fry!"

A Rodian, the groups' only non-human member, hooted a question in something that sounded like Huttese.

"No idea. Where are you from, kid?"

Boba just shook his head and backed away, still clinging on to Bandy. A blond girl blocked his way.

"Whoa there squirt, where are your parents? Or you here with your owner?"

"He might not be a slave," said a brunette girl with buns reasonably.

"Sure he is, look at the bruises on him. Unless his daddy beats him up of course."

Boba shook his head rapidly. "No!"

The red-haired boy was gathering up the jug and tucking it out of sight. "Leave him, Amee. We gotta get back before the storm hits."

"What about the squirt? He looks lost."

"Maybe he's run away," suggested the brunette.

"Not our problem."

"Seek, you're a – hey Kitster, over here!"

Another boy, this one with hair as dark as Boba's and dressed in slightly cleaner clothes, was running down the alleyway holding a bag. The others' seemed to respect him, because they stepped aside when he came up.

The Rodian hooted something that Seek echoed. "Lookit, Kitster, we got busted by a squirt with a dolly. You seen him before?"

Kitster shook his head, and they all groaned. The sky was getting darker, an ominous taupe colour. They looked up anxiously.

"We gotta get back," said Amee uneasily. "But we can't just leave him to get buried."

The newest boy took control. "I know where to bring him. You get off home; my mom won't worry if I'm a few minutes late back."

They ran off gratefully, and Kitster took his new charges' hand, pulling him along into a street filled with hovels stacked on top of each other like cards. Boba let himself be taken; starting to get worried about the way everyone was rushing around and looking at the sky.

"So, you got parents?"

Boba nodded. "Dad."

"Wish _I_ did. What's he like?"

"Big," supplied Boba helpfully. "Um, black hair. Shiny armour."

"He wears armour?" Kitster looked seriously impressed.

"Uh-huh. Silver and blue," said Boba proudly. In truth he had only ever seen it in pieces, because Dad didn't make a habit of walking around in it _all_ the time, but still...

The older boy stopped outside a rusted door and knocked. A brown-eyed woman in worn clothes answered.

"Kitster! Oh my goodness, what are doing here so close to the sandstorm?"

"This kid just turned up in the alley behind the junkshop," his escort explained. "We didn't know where we should take him, so I figured you might have room until the storm passes over."

"Of course I will, now get back home! It's almost here!"

He ran off thankfully, and she gestured for Boba to come in doors. He did so, grateful to be out of the stinging gusts of sand.

It was big, bigger than his home on Kamino, and built out of the fawn rock that everything seemed built of in the city. The woman led him to a table and fetched a glass of water and some fruits.

He ate them, grinning at the sweet juicy taste. The woman smiled back at him.

"What's your name?"

"Boba," he mumbled around the mouthful.

"Do you have parents?"

"Dad." He sniffed and finished the fruit silently.

"Is he here?" she asked gently.

"Nuh-uh. Coming."

"To fetch you?"

"Uh-huh."

"How did you get here?" she said kindly.

"A Hutt." He thought it over and added, "Gardulla."

She sighed, sounding sorrowful. "And she took you away from your father?"

"Yes." He blinked and hugged Bandy, starting to feel the tickle in his throat again. At least _someone_ understood what was happening.

The kind woman picked him up gently and took him to the back of the house, where there was a room filled with bits of junk and a small bed. She lay him down and got a blanket out of the cupboard by the door.

"This was my sons' room. I never really got around to emptying it." She smiled sadly. "You can sleep here until the storm is over."

"Thank you." He let her tuck him in, wondering who her son was and why he wasn't using the room. Maybe he had been taken by a Hutt as well.

She left, dimming the lights until the room was in shadow, letting Boba go to sleep and wait for his Dad to come and get him.

* * *

Shmi sighed as she closed the door to Anakins' bedroom. It was painful, very painful to have another little boy sleeping where her beloved son had rested for almost ten years, but she could no more have thrown the child out of her house than she could have killed him outright. 

Shmi very rarely hated anyone, but right now she was surprised to find she hated Gardulla – and all the Hutts – with venom so potent that if one had dared slither into her house at that moment, she would have ripped out its eyes from its bloated head without pause. How _dare_ they ruin a little boys' life like this! How _dare_ they scare him! How _dare_ they be careless enough to lose him and almost get him killed!

She calmed herself down and went into the kitchen. It was no use thinking like that. If the Hutts came to reclaim lost property, she would _have_ to give up the child. She would have no choice, unless she wished him to be taken by force and possibly hurt even more.

But if they _didn't_ look in here... that was a different matter altogether.

She smiled slightly at the thought, but it was swept off as soon as she thought of the boys' parents, the father he had mentioned. Her heart went out to the poor man, wherever he was, and she made a silent wish that he was going to come, and they would be happily reunited.

She knew what it was like to lose a child.

* * *

Boba slept much longer than he had intended, but he woke up feeling almost happy. Somehow he just _knew_ it was going to be today that Dad came, and thank the nice lady and take him home again. He got up and followed his nose into the main living area, where a plate of pallies and bread and a glass of blue milk had been set out. 

He was halfway through all this, not caring that his stomach was starting to hurt from overeating, when the nice lady came in with a tube of something that smelled prickly. He wrinkled his nose and looked up enquiringly.

"Its bacta gel," she said reassuringly, "for your bruises."

He nodded silently and let her smear the stuff on his arms and his jaw, forcing himself not to show how much it hurt. She let him go finally and watched him finish his breakfast.

There was a knock on the door, and a droid walked in, and Boba stared. It didn't have a chassis, but was completely unprotected, showing all of its wires and servodrivers. It called out in a prim voice "Mistress Skywalker, Master Kitster is at the door."

"Let him in, Threepio."

The droid disappeared, only to reappear with Kitster hurrying behind him. The older boy looked worried.

"Kitster, whatever's the matter?" The nice lady sounded as anxious as he looked.

"There are people searching all through the slave quarter!" he blurted. "They say they're looking for a boy..."

Another knock sounded on the door, this one heavier. Loud voices shouted outside.

The lady went ashen. "Hide him!"

Kitster jumped up and grabbed Boba, hauling the toddler around the wall and into one of the kitchen cupboards. Boba heard him run back to the main room as booted feet sounded in the hallway and a harsh voice demanded something in Huttese.

The nice lady replied tensely. "No, I haven't seen a young boy. You must have the wrong house."

A smashing sound made Boba jump, and a snarl followed. "No, those were for Kitster here. Weren't they?"

A younger voice, shaking slightly, said "Yeah."

Maybe he didn't sound convincing enough, or maybe the tip-off had been from a trusted informer, because the next thing Boba heard was a stamping sound as the intruders split to search the house. He peered through the crack in the door and saw a Nikto in a black tunic come into the kitchen. He huddled back as far as he could go, heart racing.

A clawed hand burst through and grabbed his shoulder, making him scream with fright. The Nikto dragged him out of the cupboard and down to the door, ignoring Shmi's protests and Kitster's yell. The other Nikto smacked the boy aside and growled something at the lady that made her turn white with fear.

Boba didn't stop screaming and kicking at the red-skinned being until they reached a shabby starship with and he was dropped to the floor with a _huff_. The impact hurt his leg and almost made him drop Bandy, but he didn't care. He was too mad at the stupid leather-skins for stealing him again and frightening the nice woman.

He heard them growl at each other, this time in Basic.

"Not worth the journey," said one. "He can stay here 'till its time to go."

The other nodded. "It won't take long anyways. Gardulla shouldn't have angered Jabba like that."

"Not our place to say." His bigger partner rummaged in the crates that filled the hold, drawing out something that clinked. He dragged Boba back to behind the boxes and into a small space behind the boxes with a blanket and a hoop in the wall.

"How long 'till we leave and follow her again?"

A grunt. "Soon. Hard to tell." He hooked a chain link through the loop and snapped something around Boba's waist. The boy looked down and saw it was an iron ring, before the weight dragged him down.

A rumble sounded and they both looked up, cursing, before they ran out, leaving Boba sitting with the chain around his waist. He tugged at it hopelessly.

Another rumble sounded, this time closer. It sounded almost like starships, or maybe a really big speeder...

He decided he didn't want to find out. Boba looked around, and saw something shiny on top of one of the crates.

A bunch of keys.

He reached up, but he was too short. Frowning, he held up Bandy by the tail and swiped at the key holder. He had to reach it... he had to get out...

A roar sounded as the ships engines started to warm up.

* * *

Jango flashed down through Tatooines' atmosphere, not bothering to answer the docking masters' inquiries as he dropped the ship to the ground and ran out so fast Zam could barely keep up. 

"How... you know... where going?" she wheezed.

"I've _worked_ for Jabba. He comes here for the podraces..."

They ran towards the city limits, almost knocking over a skinny kid with a black eye and mucky clothing. He yelped.

"Hey watch... no wait! _Stop_!"

Zam skidded to a halt, Jango reluctantly following suit. The kid was running after them, and for some reason he seemed to be fixated on Jango's armour...

"You looking for a kid?" the youngster panted. He looked thirteen or fourteen, but undernourished.

Jango almost jumped down the poor boys' throat. "Where did you see him?"

"Uh, some Nikto had him... they said something about leaving soon..."

Jango immediately spun on his heal, but stopped dead, looking at the sky. Zam didn't have to look up to see what he was staring at, and so just got a head start in as they sprinted back to the _Slave I_, the Corellian YZ-775 freighter starting to gain height in the skies above them.

* * *

A litany of fear pounded through Jango's head as he coaxed the Slave upwards. _So close so close._

He could practically _see_ his son on the ship breaking the cloud line, feel his small heart beating with fear as he sat in a cramped place far from home, hear him sob and try not to, because he was a bounty hunters' son and bounty hunters' sons didn't cry...

The Firespray shuddered as it left the ground, as if as anxious to get the hunt over with as he was. He wasn't sure what he was going to do when he had the ship in his sights... maybe fire a few bolts and force it to land... but he knew the first thing he was going to do when the hatches opened and he could go inside.

He would run to his son and hold him and never _ever_ let go again.

_I'm coming, Boba. Hold on. _

Zam gasped and grabbed his arm. "Starships coming in!"

He looked at the radar screen, frowning. "Hutt fighters. Maybe an escort..."

Well, whatever. They wouldn't stop him from doing what he had to.

"Shit, _shit_, they're locking their targeters on it!"

Jango felt his heart chill. _Oh, oh no. Please no._

He twisted the _Slave_ into the oncoming ships so hard they were pinned into their seats by the g' forces, the twin blaster cannons punching through the armour of one of the leaders so it exploded in a cloud of cold fire. The rest scattered around them as the YZ-775 started to roll desperately in evasive action.

The bounty hunter looped and dived and whirled the Firespray in near-impossible moves, blasting three more ships out of existence as Zam scanned the radar and yelled–

"One there above, he's firing!"

Jango vaped him, not bothering to pull the _Slave_ out of its spin as he chased after another, who was firing a torpedo. The fighter blew in a starburst of flash-frozen gases but not before the torpedo fired and Jango watched, petrified, as it seemed to crawl towards the lumbering freighter, chasing it in a dreamlike hope that he could hit it before it reached its target...

"_No!_" he screamed without realising.

The freighter vanished in a ball of flame.

* * *

Below, on the planets' surface, a small figure clutching a stuffed bantha wriggled between two pieces of the starports' crumbling outer wall, watching the explosion of fire above him without understanding the reason, or the significance, before he turned back and walked to the dunes. 

Away from the starport. Away from the city.


	6. Chapter 6

Zam stared in horror at the collapsing gas cloud. They had lost. Boba – a four year old boy, barely able to read the Aurebesh – was gone. Killed. Blown into atoms by a Hutt gang war.

It... It wasn't _fair_.

Jango didn't move from his frozen position. "He... they made a mistake. He must still be in the city."

She closed her eyes in pain at his hollow tone, and the knowledge in her heart how unlikely that was. But she couldn't tell him _no_.

"I guess," she said instead.

"I'm going to look for him." He started to steer the _Slave_ down to the planets surface, making for Mos Espa. "There's still a chance... he could have been left behind..."

She held his arm in a tight squeeze. "Yeah. He could have."

But behind her face scarf her eyes streamed with tears.

_Oh Jango. I'm so sorry. _

* * *

Boba wandered among the flats, not knowing where he should go. The suns were halfway up the sky, burning down on the boy but not enough to make him lose consciousness. Just enough for him to be taking frequent sips from the water flask he had stolen from one of the crates in the freighter. 

Dad had told him about Tatooine, mentioning Hutts and criminals, but also moisture farmers and bands of Jawas that eked a living scavenging for scrap metal and used droids between the settlements. He had figured that maybe if he ran _away_ from the city, he would find nice people – like the farmers and Jawas – instead of nasty Hutts and criminals that lived in the towns. It was worth a try. And when he was there, maybe he could get them to holocom Dad, or send a message, or... something. It was better than trying to hide from Gardulla.

His imagination soon took the boring edge off the journey, even if it did nothing about the heat. He _was_ on Tatooine after all, and he had Bandy with him. For the bantha, it must practically be home.

He walked on, pretending he was an explorer, his faithful pet bantha at his side, looking after him as he reached the dunes.

* * *

Jango half-ran through the slave quarters, searching for the house. No, no, no... There, that had to be it. The one with the red-painted door and the score mark where some kid had maybe kicked a ball too hard and chipped the rock. 

He banged on the door, hearing Zam shift behind him. They had run into a group of urchins watching a Rodian teenager fixing up a swoop bike, who when questioned had said someone called Kitster – maybe the same boy who had told them about the freighter – had taken Boba to a local woman to stay with. If anyone knew about Boba, it would be her.

The door was answered by a shelless protocol droid, who managed to look even more surprised than usual upon seeing them.

"Greeting, I am C-3PO, human-cyborg –"

"Shut up," snapped Jango, not wanting to waste time. "Does Shmi Skywalker live here?"

"Oh yes sir, but she is at her masters –"

"Where is that?"

"Why, in the market area sir, and who –"

But he was already heading for the junkshops, leaving the droid to stutter itself into silence.

* * *

Boba was lost. All of the dunes looked the same, and when he tried to trace his footsteps back he ended up going in a circle, only he wasn't too sure about that because by the time he had reached where he had been the wind had already blown away his footprints. 

And his water was almost all gone.

Now would have been a good time for Dad to show up, but Boba was steadily starting to lose faith in the fact that would happen. He had been wandering the dunes for most of the morning, his head hurt from all the sun and his bare arms were starting to burn and turn a reddish colour. And he was dizzy.

He skidded down the side of a sandbank. At first that had been fun, but now it just got more sand in his pants and shoes, which itched almost as bad as the red bits on his arms. Maybe he should stop for a bit.

Boba chose a dune that looked a bit shady, and huddled down with Bandy.

* * *

The bell-shaped synstone building, rising like an extension of the sandy street, was dark and cool as Jango stepped inside. A blue Toydarian with a mouthful of chunky tusks and a stick fluttered up from behind the counter. 

"_Chowbaso, Ootmian.__ Hi chuba da nago?_"

"I'm looking for Shmi Skywalker," he said flatly in Basic.

"Shmi? If you are collecting..."

"I just need to speak with her."

The alien seemed apprehensive, but he shouted towards the back. A woman with a proud bearing but ragged clothes entered, stopping dead with shock when she saw the bounty hunters.

Zam gave the Toydarian a look. He took the hint and flew into the yard, out of earshot.

Jango tried to gentle his voice, without much success. "I was told that you were given a boy a short while ago. He would have been small, with dark hair and carrying –"

"– a toy bantha," she finished, sounding sad.

"It's true?" he said, keeping his voice level with great difficulty.

"It is." Her eyes softened. "Are you his father?"

Jango gave the woman full credit for intuition. He hadn't even taken off his helmet.

Shmi carried on, "I'm sorry, but Gardullas' thugs received information and..." she swallowed slightly. "They took him back to their ship. I couldn't stop them."

"_No_." Jango's voice projector couldn't dampen the naked pain in his voice, not that he cared. "No, that's not _possible_."

"If you leave now you could catch them, I'm sure you could track them down..."

He felt Zam grip his shoulder, which remained as tense as it had when the freighter had first burst out of existence. She tried to explain.

"The ship took off, but Jabba... his fighters..."

She broke off, as if the words caused her pain. Shmi paled. "You mean that explosion just now...?"

There was an awful silence, broken only by the sound of harsh breathing he recognised dimly as his own and a flapping sound from the yard as the owner hovered close enough to pick up information. Jango found he didn't really think about it with any concern.

His son was dead. His little boy had been killed. He had watched his son die, and he couldn't even grieve, because instead of a heart that felt real pain there was only a shadow-heart made of the ashes of the old, which strummed with phantom pain but didn't quite reach where it should.

He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, and was dimly surprised it wasn't Zam, but the slave woman. She held him close, as he had when Boba had been scared of the lightning and...

He shuddered and closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," a voice whispered, "I'm so very sorry."

Jango said nothing, felt nothing. He had nothing left to feel with.

* * *

Boba opened his eyes to receive two sensations. One was a rough tongue licking his forehead, rasping at raw skin like sandpaper. The other was a blast of hot breath that woke him up faster than stimcaf did with Dad. 

He opened his eyes, still dizzy from the sun. A furry brown face looked down at him, and lowed in a continuous moan.

Boba touched Bandy for a moment, trying to reassure himself that this was real and not a very strange dream.

The bantha – the real, live, actual smelly-and-hairy _bantha_ – lowed again, blasting his face with stink before shuffling off. He scrambled up and saw more of them, all trundling over the dunes purposefully, and rumbling like starship engines. The one who had woken him shambled to the front of the herd.

Boba looked around. There weren't any people, and the sun was hot and hurt his eyes and the banthas seemed to know where they were going. He hurried after them, jumping away from their clumsy feet and keeping in the middle. The banthas took no notice, but continued to hurry.

He held up Bandy and played at imagining again. Only this time he was with Bandys' herd, and they were all going off exploring the desert together, maybe even to see a Krayt Dragon...

Eventually he got bored of the game, not to mention tired. The banthas looked exhausted as well, tongues hanging out and pants filling the air. Boba felt like following suit, but it only made his tongue feel drier, so he stopped.

The leader, an ancient and huge female, suddenly bellowed and broke into a shuffling trot. The rest hollered and followed suit, almost trampling Boba as they rushed over a curved sandy rise and down the other side. He ran after them in panic, but his shorter legs couldn't keep up, and by the time he had reached to top of the dune the last bantha had already disappeared down onto a rocky area with a twisty canyon.

He ran on, ignoring the dizzy feeling in his head and the ache in his legs, only knowing that he didn't want to be left on his own again. He scrambled down the rocks and into the canyon, hastening as he heard the lows of the herd ahead.

He turned the corner and gasped with relief. The herd was there, all clustered around a depression in the ground. There were slurping sounds coming from the middle, and splashes.

Boba sat down to wait for them to finish, knowing that he couldn't push into the middle of the mass without getting hurt. He buried his face in Bandys fur, which smelt of familiar things – of his bedroom on Kamino, and Dad's armour polish, and metal and soap – and started pretending again. This one was just imagining he was back in his bedroom, listening to Dad tell the story of Jaster Mereel.

The rumbles died off and he peeked over Bandys' back. The banthas were shambling away from the dip, groaning contentedly and cleaning their calves. Boba got up and hurried to the water hole, now muddy and churned up from bantha feet. He was thirsty enough to drink anyway, and then jumped right in, not caring that he sunk in enough to soak his clothes. The water soothed the red bits on his skin, and the burning feeling in his feet.

A grunt made him look around.

One of the smaller banthas – a male, he recognised from the holobooks he'd borrowed – was snuffling and shaking his head as though bothered by the botflies buzzing around the pool. Boba thought it _was_ the flies, until he saw a rag-wrapped figure in a tattered sand cloak that was creeping cautiously down the canyon towards the young male.

Boba watched as the Tusken cautiously extended a hand and let the bantha sniff it, before its whole arm was licked up to the elbow. Giving the impression that something important had been decided, the Tusken patted the banthas' nose, earning itself a contented grumble.

He stared. Dad had told him about Sand People, how they were vicious and savage and hated outsiders. He hadn't mentioned that they liked banthas.

On the other hand he _wasn't_ a bantha, so it might be a good idea if he went into the middle of the herd and stayed there until the sand person went away.

Boba got out of the pool, careful not to splash, and scurried to the nearest bantha. It turned and regarded him mournfully from under a brow covered in matted fur, lowing. He patted it and tried to make it hush. It snuffled his hand, tickling his arm and making him giggle involuntarily.

He turned to see where the Tusken was. It had climbed on to the young bantha, and was now watching him through its goggles, looking as thoughtful as a being in full-length robes and a mask can look. Then it kicked the bantha onwards, towards Boba.

Boba didn't move. He was too scared, and tired, and dizzy, and his feet hurt. Besides, he could see now that the sand person was carrying a rifle, so even if he did run he would still be shot. Dad had emphasised the futility of running when the other person had a blaster.

The Tusken pulled up his mount beside Boba and looked down. Boba looked back up stonily.

It grunted approvingly and swung down in front of him. It looked a lot bigger close up, and Boba backed away a little, holding Bandy closer. The Tusken gave a croaking sound that sounded almost like a laugh, before holding out a swathed hand encouragingly. Boba looked at in confusion.

Did it want him to follow?

The Tusken walked back to its new mount and looked back. His meaning was clear.

It _did_ want him to follow.

Boba considered this. He wasn't sure if Tuskens worked for Hutts, but it seemed pretty unlikely. Dad had said they hated outsiders, and Hutts were pretty far outside Tatooine. Maybe it just didn't want him here, and was going to take him somewhere else.

Boba decided he didn't want to be here either.

He walked over and let himself be lifted up; eyes wide as the bantha rocked into motion and started off down to the plains.

* * *

Zam was starting to worry about her partner. He hadn't done anything after the slave woman had hugged him, just thanked her for her time, and left without another word. The silence had continued to the Slave, and during takeoff, until now in hyperspace she was starting to grow concerned that he had forgotten how to talk. 

Ok he had always been taciturn, but still. His son was dead. Surely he could... shout or cry or just _say_ something?

Maybe he was in shock.

She dared to say "I'm sorry."

He didn't answer, or move.

"I know how much it must hurt."

_That_ got a response. "You don't. You can't."

Blast him. If he wanted to play it that way, fine. "You know, you're absolutely right. But it helps to say things out loud sometimes not just sit and stare at hyperspace like a lump of rock."

He didn't get angry, but then Jango didn't very often. He didn't speak either, though, which was aggravating.

"Where are we going?" she asked finally, expecting to hear they were going back to Kamino.

"Nar Shadda."

She blinked. "Why?"

"There's someone I need to see." His speech was blank and flat.

"Who?"

"Just a slicer," he said, and now his voice was hungry and boiled like a storm. "I have a promise to keep."

* * *

Boba tasted campfire smoke on the air, and felt the Tusken behind him urge the bantha forward. Cooking sounds, grunts, groans and the occasional shriek of children floated along the canyon towards them, making him perk up. He hadn't met other kids before, but he had heard about them books. Maybe they would be friends. 

Friends sounded like nice things to have.

A sentry called an alarm, but changed its tone as the Tusken behind him raised its rifle and bellowed. More ran from the camp, bellowing and roaring, but in a happy way not an angry one.

One Tusken, dressed in a jewelled mask and with robes decorated with womp rat teeth, was at the head of the tribe, greeting the Tusken as it jumped down and pulled Boba after it. They exchanged a brief moaned greeting before turning to Boba, who backed away slightly as he realised the _whole tribe_ was looking at him.

A big Tusken came up, with a gaffi stick that looked as though it was made of starship plating, and growled something at Boba's escort. The smaller sand person grunted something back, patting its bantha. When the big one pointed at Boba, it responded with a staccato of growls and moans.

They both looked at Boba. The one wearing the jewelled mask kept its eyes on the smaller Tusken, radiating concern.

The big one finally snorted and a very humanlike gesture suggesting _why not?_ The smaller Tusken bowed its head briefly, before turning back the one in the jewelled mask and grunting a rapid succession of words in its own language, sounding like an eopie gargling Jawa Beer.

Or so Boba thought. He had never seen an eopie gargle anything, but that's what he _imagined_ it sounded like.

The masked Tusken seemed to sigh and shrug, before turning to Boba. The rest of the tribe had wandered off by then, leaving only a few curious children and their mothers to look on. Jewelled Mask grunted something at them before taking Boba's hand gently and leading him into a tent.

It was dark inside, but cooler, which Boba was thankful for. He looked around curiously, seeing skulls that looked humanoid set on shelves around them. They didn't particularly scare him (Dad had always told him that it was the living that caused problems, not the dead), but their eye sockets were a bit creepy. There was also a shiny pearl in pride of place at the centre of the display.

The masked Tusken bent over a leather pack, drawing out a set of ragged clothes that were fingered gently before being thrown over his head, his yelp muffled by the thick cloth. The Tusken gave a small croaking laugh, before handing him a pair of boots and starting to wrap his hands in rags like gloves.

Boba let it do what it wanted, mindful of the bag hanging at its waist that made sloshing sounds. It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go, and if he sat quietly and didn't make a fuss it might give him some water, which would help his swollen tongue and sore throat.

As it was this was what happened, so that after every bit of his body apart from his head had been covered in rags and cloth the Tusken opened the flask and handed it to him. The water inside tasted of bantha – like everything else – and it was warm, but he drank most of it without drawing breath.

As soon as he finished the flask was taken away, and a mask of metal like Dad's own was dropped over his head with a decisive _clang_.


	7. Chapter 7

Grillip ran through the lower level streets of Nar Shadda, sobbing with terror. Behind him he could hear running footsteps, metal on metal, as the one behind him sprinted over the durasteel walkway after him.

Desperate, he ducked into an alley, doubled back, turned, and ran up another, until finally his legs lost all their strength and he was forced to crouch behind a trash dispersal unit, hugging his knees and feeling his teeth chatter. The footsteps died away, leaving him alone in the dark.

It had all gone so _wrong_, ever since Fett had found him in the Slag Pit. Leona had left him, although not without taking most of his money first, telling him coldly that he could spare a few credits since he wouldn't be needing them soon. When he had tried to get back to Bana the Hutts' base, the guards at the entrance wouldn't let him in, saying that Bana had no use for a slicer who would be dead in a month.

He had been forced to make his way down to the underlevels, a ghostly figure among its savages and scavengers from the world above, rarely venturing into the light unless he needed to steal food and water. He had hidden and prayed and hoped he wouldn't be found, as everyone was sure he would be...

The silence was almost oppressive now, pressing down on him like a smothering blanket. He peered out into the misty gloom and strained to catch sight of his pursuer. Minutes passed.

Grillip breathed a relieved sigh. He was gone.

A hand grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him up, squealing like a Ranat caught in a trap. A T-shaped visor locked gazes with him, and a voice whispered with a cold as icy and fixed as death itself –

"Time to keep my promise."

* * *

Boba rose up, almost tripping over his robes in haste, and ran back to KReu'Ar with his prize. She grunted approvingly, taking the hubba gourd from his gloved hands and letting him sip from her water pouch. 

It was simple enough here. He found gourds; he got water. He behaved well; he got food. He couldn't understand what the Tuskens said, and they never spoke much anyway, but he had picked up names and simple sounds, like the look-out cry, and the welcoming-cry and the special sounds they made when the tribes banthas needed soothing.

He knew that the Tusken in the jewelled mask was called KReu'Ar, that she was mated to Ur'Uruuga, and that the leader was called Urr'Ak, although from the respectful tone he supposed that might be a title rather than an actual name. KReu'Ar had been pleased with him.

All but one thing. Each night, when the other members of the tribe gathered around the fires to hear the storyteller, Boba would slip out and sit with the massifs, looking out into the desert and waiting for his Dad to come.

* * *

Zam was waiting when he made it back to the _Slave_, not commenting on the mess on his armour or how long he had been, but letting him walk up the ramp in a grim silence. He was glad she no longer tried to comfort him. It had started to get annoying. 

He warmed up the engines and slumped back in his seat, his head bowed. It straightened as Zam came in, and said "where to now?"

"I am going to Kamino." He didn't turn to look at her. "You can make your own way."

"I'm coming with you," she said quietly.

He shrugged, trying to seem careless. "I won't bring you back if you do."

"I don't mind. Kamino isn't so bad." Her voice hardened a shade. "I need to make sure you won't do something stupid..."

She broke off, and Jango felt something hurt when he saw her face was wet. He started to reach out, but stopped himself before she could notice.

He didn't have a good track record when it came to helping people, after all.

Nevertheless he softened his voice a little, or tried to. "I'll make sure they have a room ready."

She nodded. It was all he could hope for. If he could hope at all.

* * *

When the sky darkened that day, Boba came back to find Ur'Uruuga holding something in his gloved hands, his masked face as expressionless as ever but his stance tense. As Boba reached him, the Tusken held out what he had been keeping. 

It was a gaffi stick, smaller than the adults but still with a sharp stabbing point at one end and the mace-like head at the other. He took it from the Tusken gently, unsure of what to do.

Ur'Uruuga growled something softly, perhaps warning him not to lose it, perhaps saying something entirely different. He didn't understand yet.

He was starting to get the feeling he might have the chance to.

Boba touched Bandy, who he had taken to carrying around strapped on his back like a pack so that the tail hung down within reach. Neither Ur'Uruuga nor KReu'Ar understood why he carried the toy around, but they were happy to let him do it as long as it didn't get in the way. Boba didn't really feel like parting with Bandy just now. Things were confusing enough as it was.

A small feeling started in his gut, faint but noticeable and painful, and it only increased as Ur'Uruuga led them both gently to the campfires and KReu'Ar held him comfortingly in her arms as the storyteller stood and recited words he didn't understand. He huddled deeper into her hug, and tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't go away.

It was the intense, awful feeling that maybe; just maybe, Dad wasn't going to come after all.

* * *

Skitira watched through his window as the _Slave_ broke through the endless clouds, hurrying from the room as it reached its usual rain-swept platform and touched down with barely a murmur. N-11, Ordo, looked up as he went. 

"_Kal'buir_?"

"I'm just going out for a minute," he said reassuringly, "I'll be back soon."

The boy nodded and went back to cleaning his DC. Skitira had adapted long ago to how smart his little lads were, but he still felt a twinge of – what? Sadness? – when he saw them acting like soldiers closer to his age than theirs. They would never really have childhoods, which angered him.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he went out to the landing pad, starting to frown. It was taking a long time for them to come out...

"Taking his own sweet time about it, isn't he?"

Skitira repressed a sigh with difficulty, turning to look at the speaker. "No-one asked you, Vau. He's probably just getting Boba calmed down."

The Mandalorian ignored him but continued to look at the Slave before saying quietly, "or not, perhaps."

Something in his tone made Skitira look around with dread, and his heart dropped as he saw Jango come out with a strange woman, but no Boba.

He could be hurt, he told himself, sounding unconvincing even in his own head, it could be nothing, they could just be stopping off while hunting for him, they might refuel and leave...

But deep down he knew Jango would never have stopped until his son was safe. And his son was nowhere to be seen.

The bounty hunter tensed when he saw them both, standing in the lee of the doorway out of the rain. The stranger, a woman Skitira guessed was less human than she looked, reached up, and gripped his shoulder consolingly.

Jango appeared to take a deep breath. "It... didn't work. Jabba got there before us."

Skitira closed his eyes briefly; pushing down the sudden pang he felt thinking of that little boy, so like the Nulls. "I'm sorry."

Vau said nothing, and he was grateful. The man was no father, had no family. He couldn't begin to guess at what this would mean for Jango. Anything he said would be wrong.

Jango just nodded, and Skitira was glad the helmet hid the man's face. He didn't want to see the pain of someone he respected so much.

The woman – who he guessed was Zam – said, "It was in space, we couldn't..."

She swallowed and shook her head, and they knew what she meant. In space battles, it was rare to retrieve bodies.

_What else can I say?_ he thought helplessly, _what else _can_ you say? _

There was nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

There wasn't much time for play now. Everyone in the tribe had to work, gathering food and tending the fires and guarding against settler attacks. Even the littlest children had to participate, usually by finding hubba gourds or helping to tend the banthas, because on Tatooine if you were a liability, you were dead. The tribe couldn't afford to waste food on anyone. 

But there were times when Boba was able to play, usually by himself because he didn't understand any of the other children and so couldn't take part in their games. Besides, although he didn't know it, he took after his Dad in more ways than one. He was a loner by nature and upbringing, and preferred his own company. Mostly he would take Bandy and go pretending to be an explorer or a bounty hunter among the dunes.

He had learned a few more words, like the one for children – _uli'ah_ – and the tents – _urtya_. He had also learned to recognise his own name.

The Tuskens knew his real name; he had told them so when he had first been brought there. But it had mutated into something more easily pronounced and accepted by sand people, so now when they called his name they called B'brk'ah. He knew enough of what was said to know that _ah_ meant small or little. Little Boba. He remembered someone – someone dad had known – calling him something like that.

He still thought about Dad a lot. But it was distant, and the pain was almost detached, as if it belonged to someone else. Boba Fett was Jango Fett's son, and missed his Dad every day. B'brk'ah lived with Ur'Uruuga and KReu'Ar, and he could let the pain dim into a memory.

But both of them still watched the desert each night.

* * *

Jango sucked in a tense breath, inwardly thankful that Zam wasn't there. He hadn't been looking forward to this day. 

The Kaminoans had been saddened by his report of Boba's death, but to them he was merely just another product, and their grief was for the loss of a fine piece of work rather than a child. He knew that and he hated them for it, but there was nothing he could do except acknowledge their coldness and try to ignore them.

But the Kaminoans had not paid him to sit in his quarters and stare at his son's open bedroom door, but to train specialist clone units to his own standards. Thus his dread of this day.

He steeled himself and walked in.

Six clone ARCs looked up as he entered in perfect unison, all in identical red uniforms with the Tipoca City crest on it. They were there to be taught hand-to-hand combat, so they had no weapons. He had cut off their training when he had gone hunting for his son, and they were all eager to continue.

They looked about eight years old, but Jango knew they were about half that.

And they all looked like Boba.

No. He couldn't do this.

Without any explanation, or excuse, or even a word, he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

The ARCs watched him go in confusion.

* * *

Boba would soon find out why they had been working so hard lately. The winds had been picking up for a while now, threatening sandstorms, and the tribe was preparing to break camp for their storm season encampment in the Wastes. Soon the place was swept clean of tents, the Tuskens had formed their banthas in a line, and there was no indication that anyone had ever been there at all. 

Boba travelled with KReu'Ar, Ur'Uruuga riding out in a scout position with some of the other males. He had learnt a little about the Tusken since he had been picked up at the oasis, and he knew now that Ur'Uruuga was one of the best of the tribes' scouts and often led small groups on raids to the outlying settlements.

He wasn't sure if he should be proud of this or not. Ur'Uruuga wasn't his dad, but he had looked after Boba and everyone else _treated_ him as Boba's new dad, so everything had gotten complicated. And KReu'Ar definitely treated him as a son, but that was easier to accept because he had never had a mother before. He was sure that Zam and Taun We didn't count.

Boba clutched the banthas fur as they started off, feeling it rock back and forth like the half-forgotten memory of riding on Dad's shoulders one time, playing Ships. Everything was so different now, and it was getting harder and harder for him to remember what things had been like before, when water had dropped from the sky instead of hoarded as a valuable commodity, when he had drawn with crayons instead of making pictures in the sand with his fingers, when the only bantha he had ever touched had been Bandy.

He was holding Bandy now, with a vague feeling that if he held on long enough, everything would just fade into a dream and he would wake up back home in bed.

But he wasn't sure now, if asked about _home_, which place he would think of.

* * *

Zam had had enough. It had been a month since they had arrived, and in the whole of that time Jango had spoken about three separate sentences to her, and _those_ had been within the first few days. She had explored the corridors around the visitors' areas, viewed the clone training areas, wandered around until she had been ready to scream with frustration and still hadn't met him or seen him at all. Every time she had knocked on his apartment door there had been no answer. 

If she didn't know any better she would have said he was avoiding her.

Well, he was in for a surprise. She was, right now, standing outside his quarters and she had brought her code breaking kit with her. If he didn't answer this time, he was going to have to get a new door.

She knocked. "Jango, it's me." _As if it would be anyone else._ "Open up."

No reply. She got out the kit and gave him a second chance.

"Jango, I've got my burglar gear out here, and it's going to be used on your door in three...two..."

The door opened, revealing Jango wearing ordinary clothes in place of armour and an expression of extreme irritation. Before that look would have made her run for cover, but now she could match his annoyance perfectly.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"To come inside for starters," she said bluntly.

He scowled but complied, perhaps sensing the pointlessness of opposition. She pushed past him and looked around, noticing bare, almost stark interior, the open door that showed a child's bed and the mess around it. She didn't have to ask to know he hadn't touched anything inside that room since he had returned.

She turned around and looked him up and down, hiding her worry. "You need a shave," she said critically, "and food. A shower wouldn't go amiss either."

"Anything else?" he snapped.

"Actually yes. Someone just landed on pad twelve in a strange ship. You might want to grab your armour and meet them."

He muttered something, but headed for the door anyway. He did not, however, put on his armour.

Zam followed behind him at a safe distance, wondering what would happen next. She had her blaster as ever, but Jango was a better shot than her (she had never admitted it) and if it came down to a firefight he could very well get himself killed if he tried to take someone on unarmed and unprotected.

_Which is probably why he's doing it_, a nasty voice whispered.

Jango marched into a white room – Zam was getting sick of the permanent washed-out décor – and nodded curtly at the man inside with the Kaminoan prime minister. Zam sucked in a breath as she saw him, because although she did not recognise him she could see the lightsaber on his belt.

_Of all the times for a damn Jedi to show up..._

Jango didn't seem worried, but Zam was well aware this could mean nothing. Right now Jango probably wouldn't react if a Rancor showed up. "What do you want, Dooku?"

The Jedi looked at Zam, and then turned away in dismissal, doing nothing for her opinion of him. "Just a little talk."

"You paid me for my DNA, not my conversation."

Zam blinked. This was the being that set Vosa's bounty? A _Jedi_? And what had happened to Jango's rule of _always be polite to clients_?

The Jedi showed no reaction, other than a slight frown. "I also paid you to _train_ your products; something which the Kaminoans have been informing me has been somewhat slack lately."

_I'll bet it has_. She watched Jango give Lama Su a hard look, which the Kaminoan showed no reaction to.

"Part of my payment is missing," he said flatly. "The deal's off."

"The deal is _not_ 'off'." Zam could almost hear the quotations marks clink into the place in the mans' cultured voice. "You received your payment as asked, losing it was an act of carelessness that _we_ are not accountable for. You agreed to the terms when you took the contract, and you will keep that contract."

Jango tensed, and Zam followed suit. This man was sounding less and less like a Jedi than a general.

"My _son_ is dead," he said, and she felt something boil under the surface of those words, which disturbed her greatly. Jango _never_ let his emotions show. "I have no reason to keep the contract, Dooku, especially since I have started to wonder _how_ exactly Montross found me..."

The Jedi – Dooku – showed no reaction except faint scorn. "You are behaving like an adolescent child, bounty hunter. It may be –" his voice lowered to a lethal silkiness "– that I will find you are not so indispensable to our cause after all."

Jango didn't seem frightened, but Zam was. She could see his face.

It was _eager_.

_He_ wants _to fight Dooku_, she realised, _he _wants_ to throw his life away attacking a Jedi barehanded. _

This was a problem.

Jango stood straight before the old Jedi. "If I am disposable, you are welcome to try and dispose of me."

_Damn damn damn_. She searched her belt frantically, searching for something that might be of use against a Jedi. An unseen hand picked her up and pressed her against the wall, immobile.

Jango put a hand to his throat, and coughed. Then coughed again, and struggled to breathe, as Dooku held out a clenched fist and watched dispassionately as the bounty hunter fell to his knees, and said "reconsider."

Jango shook his head, a look of peace spreading over his face despite his gasps for air. Zam panicked.

"This isn't going to help!" she shouted.

Jango closed his eyes and let his hand drop. Only the invisible fist of power was keeping him from falling now.

_Oh shit he really does want to die. _What could she say? There wasn't anything... nothing else he had ever cared about...

Except one.

"Jango!" she yelled, "remember Galidraan! You're the last one left!"

Jango's eyes opened. They were glazed and fixed, but she saw something decided in them.

He could no longer speak, but he gave a slight nod. Dooku unclenched his fist, and Zam felt herself drop as Jango started to breathe normally.

"You will restart your training programs tomorrow as usual," he said dispassionately as Jango staggered to his feet. "Make sure I do not regret my decision."

Jango didn't deign to answer, but walked out of the room without a word. Zam picked herself up and followed him in a hurry. He didn't object, which she counted as a good sign.

Finally, almost at his apartment's door, he spoke. "Thank you."

She gave him a quizzical look. "Should I faint right now or just die of shock?"

His face relaxed, and his mouth made a broken attempt to smile. "Maybe neither. I needed reminding–"

"–that you were the last," she finished. He shook his head.

"No, I have always known that. But they were killed by _Jedi_."

"So?"

"So I didn't want to give a Jedi the _satisfaction_," his hands clenched briefly into fists, "of killing me."

"Too stubborn to die?" she asked teasingly.

"Of course." He turned away, expressionless. "I thought you knew that already."

"Will you train them, then?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. But there are things I have to do first." He palmed open the door.

"Like what?"

He looked back a moment and gave the broken attempt at a smile again. "Have a shower, and a shave, and some food."

* * *

Boba sat in the shelter of one of the Junglands' many canyons. He had been there for a while. 

The whole day had gone all wrong, from the moment he had opened his eyes to less than an hour ago – or so it felt, time had no meaning in the desert – when he had first come here to curl up and cuddle Bandy to his chest as he had a hundred times before.

He had woken from a disturbing dream, where he had been lost in the desert and crying, only to find himself in the middle of a storm all on his own. KReu'Ar had grunted impatiently at him for moaning in his sleep, and unusually he had snarled back in Basic, his tone making the words unnecessary.

The mornings' part of the journey had been spent in a huffy silence, with Boba refusing to react to KReu'Ar's attempts at finding out what was wrong. His strop had lasted until the noonday meal, when the Tusken woman had eventually given up and let him sulk in peace.

The afternoon journey passed in much the same way as the morning, with only an encounter with a Jawa sandcrawler to interrupt the sullen quiet that hung over their bantha. Boba had been glad when it had been time to camp for the night, letting him run off to the outskirts of the site and take up his position looking towards the sunsets and waiting for Dad.

Therein had come another problem. Ur'Uruuga, perhaps asked by his mate to find their adopted son, had found him huddled on the sandy rock and growled quite sharply at him to come back to the tent. Boba had snarled at him angrily, resulting in a responding bark that had made him duck under the Tuskens snatch and run off into the canyons.

He hunched up against the rough wall with Bandy and tried to ignore the cold feeling in his gloved fingers. He couldn't have explained to them why he had been so upset, because in his limited grasp of Tusken he couldn't say _guilt_.

He could no longer remember what Dad looked like, exactly.

The realisation had come during his watch of the sunsets, when he had closed his eyes and started to make his wish again, hugging Bandy and trying to remember his home. But when he had tried to picture Dad in his head, the face had been all fuzzy and smeared, with only a vague suggestion of dark eyes and short black hair set in a brown blur on top of a blue shirt.

Boba started to keen, not cry in the manner of humans that would waste water, but a low continuous lament that he had heard the tribes' banthas make when one of their own was hurt. The cry echoed down the canyon, resounded off the walls, and reached the ears of a pair of frantically searching Tuskens, making them look up and hurry down to the source.

They found their little uli'ah, rocking back and forth and wailing as though as heart was breaking. KReu'Ar immediately went to his side, thinking he was hurt, but eventually she understood that the pain wasn't physical, so that all she could do was hug him close and try to make things better without understanding what the problem was.

Boba sobbed dryly and let her, feeling a horrible pain erupt in his chest, the realisation that no matter how much he prayed or cried or complained nothing was going to change, that wasn't just an adventure he was going to wake up from, but the rest of his life written in the desert. Dad was dead. He was never going to come.

Everything had gone wrong.

So he sniffled and cried into KReu'Ar's robes, until when the last of the light was gone B'brk'ah looked up at his mother and grunted in her own language that he was ready to go back home.


	8. Chapter 8

Jango was careful to keep a tight grip on his emotions as he entered the smaller of the two bedrooms. It had been eight days since Dooku had left, two since he had dropped Zam on Rothana and the first he had entered it since finding his son missing. But he had been putting this off for far too long.

He looked around slowly, taking in every detail. The bed was still rumpled, the white sheet still dented with the imprint of its former owner, the pillow bearing the impression of a small head. On the floor the crayons were still scattered in a messy rainbow, a flimsi with a half-finished picture of the _Slave I_ done in bright primaries of blue and yellow and red. A toy starfighter lay nearby, its scuffed orange surface showing how often it had been dropped, thrown, or carried in energetic play.

By the shelf under the window where the sea-mouse tank sat, a cluttered heap of holobooks lay, one still showing its brightly coloured image of a sapphire-coloured planet streaked with swirling white clouds. Jango went over to the tank, only to find the sea-mice were long dead. Probably starved, since no-one had come in the room for a month.

He picked up crayons, gathered the picture and the holobooks and the starfighter, and put them on the bed to sort out. The holobooks went outside in a neat stack, ready to be taken back to the library, the crayons were tidied into their box and put away, the starfighter was put up on the shelf where it belonged. The picture was held for a moment, its image gently rubbed, until it was put away with the crayons, and dead sea-mice taken out to be fed to the eel in Jango's bedroom.

Jango made the bed last of all, tucking the navy duvet neatly around the sides with military crispness, straightening the white pillow and making sure not to disturb the imprint in the middle. Then he turned and went out of the room, switched off the lights, and closed the door behind him for the last time.

Thunder growled outside, lightning illuminating the interior briefly until it fell back into darkness.

* * *

There had made it finally, and B'brk'ah was as excited as the rest of his clan. They had been delayed by a Krayt Dragon that had trailed their line until a band of warriors had gone back and driven it off with concentrated fire from their rifles. The hold-up had made them late, so late they had started to wonder if they would make it to the Needles before the sandstorm season hit. 

But they had, and it hadn't, and now they were here, the last clan to make it but not unlucky enough to have been caught out in the open. While ominous gusts of wind stuttered around the spires of rock that marked the encampment, they had hastily erected tents and dived inside just as the first of the storms had swept over the Wastes.

It raged for the rest of the day and most of the night, howling like the Krayt Dragon while B'brk'ah huddled inside the tent and shivered. The noise was like the gales on Kamino, but harsher and more frightening. He wondered how the banthas' would cope unprotected, hoping their thick fur would help them weather the tempest without getting hurt.

By the next morning the storm had blown itself out, and the Tuskens were ready to gather properly. There was a good deal of reuniting among old family members, clan-meets and low-level trading, with extra supplies such as bantha wool and hubba gourds being exchanged for raided offworld produce like stoves and weaponry. There were also transfers between clans, with adolescents nearing their adult rites relocating themselves to smaller bands in order keep down the risk of inbreeding within their own.

B'brk'ah knew nothing of this. It was a rare day when he was allowed to wander and have fun completely unsupervised, and he was making the most of it. No-one looked twice at another uli'ah walking around in all the hubbub, so he was left alone unless he bumped into someone too hard and caused them to growl at him.

As he got to the edge of the encampment he saw a group of uli'ah, about his own age, playing tag among the Needles. They waved when they saw him and called, asking him to join in.

B'brk'ah stared, forgetting himself. It was the first time anyone his own size had _asked_ to play with him.

He ran over without stopping to think, almost tripping over his robes again. The biggest of them croaked a Tusken laugh, but the others shuffled aside and made room for him. One of them pointed at Bandy, still wrapped and strapped to his back, muttering a stream of words too fast for him to catch, but sounding curious.

He hesitated, before pulling the toy free and letting them examine it. They were impressed as the rags fell away and they could see the shape. He felt a hint of pride at their surprise.

Another uli'ah ran up, and he recognised it from his own clan. It saw him with the others and gave the Tusken equivalent of a gasp, before shooting out a rattle of chatters and grunts, among them the Tusken word for 'outlander'. B'brk'ah felt his face grow hotter than usual as the others backed away, and he snarled in broken Tusken at the new uli'ah. He wasn't an outlander! Not anymore!

The other one scoffed and chattered something scornful, before running away with the rest, its tattered robes flicking grains at him. He kicked sand in their direction and scowled mightily, stamping off in the direction of the dunes in a huff.

They were stupid babies anyway. They'd probably never even _seen_ an outlander!

He dragged his gaffi aimlessly through the sand, making swirl patterns like water. If only they knew what he had seen! Water coming out of the sky and flying on a ship and a real Hutt! _That_ would shut them up all right!

The thought cheered him up, and he started to explore again. He was better off on his own anyway.

* * *

He came in like a ghost, disturbing nothing, until he reached the bed in the far corner of the room and collapsed in it without a sound. 

Another day of training over. Another day of watching ten copies of his son grown four years older, performing moves most adult humans couldn't pull off. Another day of quietly correcting them, adjusting miniscule imperfections of stance and movement, another day of flat comments and a dull goodbye, seeing them trail out and be replaced with another ten identical pupils...

Another day in his existence.

He got up and ate and went and trained and came back and ate and slept and got up and did the same thing the next day. This is what is called normality, but it didn't feel normal. It felt like a dream. As if he was just… going through the motions of living.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken Zam back. Sure, she had been exasperating and irritating as hell, getting up before him to make sure he ate and practically tucking him in each night to make sure he slept properly. He had even woken one night – after one of the nightmares that were becoming much more frequent lately – to find her standing by his bed. She had _said_ she had heard him shouting, but he hadn't been able to shake the feeling she had been sitting up to watch him.

That morning he had told her rather curtly he was taking her offplanet, and she hadn't objected, wise enough not to push her luck. And then – back to the regime. It was like being in an old holorecord stuck in a glitch.

The nightmares were the only things that broke the routine.

_I should be proud_; he thought with grim humour as he lay and watched the shadows play across the ceiling. _Only a Jedi could have better dreams than these. _

_Better_ being _more intense_. Most of them replayed like his life, trapped in a never ending loop…

"_One there above, he's firing!"_

_The fighter blew in a starburst of flash-frozen gases... but not before the torpedo fired watching, _oh please no, not my son, haven't you taken enough? _Petrified, as it seemed to crawl towards the lumbering freighter, chasing it in a dreamlike hope that he could hit it before it reached its target..._

"No_!" _

_The freighter vanishing in a ball of flames..._

Wasn't it enough that he had to through it _once_, without revisiting his failure in his sleep?

Jango got up off and went out of the sleeping area. What he needed, he decided, was a change of scenery, some fresh air, and a bounty, preferably one that would _force_ him to concentrate on nothing but his prey, force him to forget.

He looked back through the door at the bed. And of course, the _Slave's_ chair was too uncomfortable to sleep deeply in...

Less than half an hour later, he was taking off for Ando.

* * *

Sandstorm season never lasted long, three or four months at most, the last dieing off in a series of scattered squalls that did little more than throw itchy grains into everyone's robes and cause the banthas to bawl in complaint as they were coaxed to leave the shelter of the Needles. 

For Tuskens the year was split in four: Sandstorm season, bantha birthing season, summer season and raiding season. Of course, Tuskens raided all the time, but after enduring the heat of the driest part of Tatooines' year forays were done not out of revenge or opportunity, but through simple need.

But that was all to the future. For now B'brk'ah's clan camped at the Gafsa canyon, by the sacred well, and helped their banthas bring forth new life. Banthas' gave birth once every three years on average, ensuring that only one or two would be born each year so as to not take up too many precious supplies.

B'brk'ah knew nothing of this; he was too busy learning how to communicate with his new kin. He never acknowledged Ur'Uruuga's fatherhood, but held in the same view he had Zam and Taun We – extended family, perhaps a teacher on occasion. Ur'Uruuga, for his part, accepted this with quiet resignation.

Three calves were born, two survived, the third dispatched with a quick blow by gaderafi stick as it mother looked on with mournful eyes and moaned under the soothing hands of her distressed owner. Both knew that the weak would not survive in Tatooines harsh environment, and that the tribe could not afford to delay the inevitable for them. The runt was left by the oasis for the anoobas, and the tribe left for the Burrows, a maze of caves near the Northern Dune Sea, to wait out the suns.

The hot season turned the Tusken lifestyle on its head, the relentless power of the suns forcing them to become semi-nocturnal, coming out at dawn and dusk to forage for food. There were also times of great rituals, for parts of the burrows were sacred to the tribe, and dances would be held to attract good luck and stave off the anger of various spirits.

Another incident occurred on the day of the ritual of Dead, where honoured ancestors would be ritually excavated and beheaded in order for their skulls to bring fortune to the clan. B'brk'ah turned five years old.

He didn't know or care and neither did the clan, but across the galaxy on a planet so different it seemed Tatooines' very opposite, one would do both.

* * *

It was the nineteenth day of the third month in the standard galactic year, a very important day, one celebrated by parades and fireworks and speeches by the Supreme Chancellor. It was time for people to celebrate a thousand years of democracy; mostly by getting as drunk as Hutts and partying in the streets. 

It was Republic Day, and on Coruscant the parades were just finishing.

From the roof of a building overlooking the Avenue of Core Founders, someone watched as the parade reached the Senate Building, coming to a halt just before a balcony holding an unassuming man. A booming voice came out over the speakers, but he took no notice of the speech, ignored everything except two things that lay clenched in his gloved fists.

One was a tall and elaborate Neimodian mitre, dark blue and capped with a diplomatic ploov to show the previous owners senator status. _Previous_ being the objective word: the owner, Lott Dod, had that morning encountered a blaster bolt that meant he wouldn't be running for senator ever again. The substantial payment for his demise would be transferred upon the delivery of the headgear, which was why the being was hauling the damn thing around, much to his displeasure.

The other thing was slightly more unusual, and it crackled slightly as he moved it into position.

The speech wound down to its stirring conclusion, and the fireworks were prepared. The man tensed.

The first flew in silver trails to the sky, where they exploded in showers of red and green, eliciting gasps and whoops of delight in the beings below. The man touched a lit paper to his second object, and stepped back out of range.

A second volley burst copper-blue, but below it a spark of gold hung for a moment, like planet so covered in sand it looked like a third sun, before winking out.

"Happy name-day, son," Jango whispered.

* * *

In a valley of bronze rock at dusk, on the planet that shone like a sister star by its primary suns, B'brk'ah dug in the ground with his gaffi stick around a profogg hole and scattered dust across the stones. 

Tuskens subsisted primarily on hubba gourds. However, they were not adverse to a little meat now and then.

B'brk'ah wished he had found something better to eat than profoggs – the rodents tasted _horrible_ – but on Tatooine you couldn't afford to be picky about what you ate, and the hole had been the only one in reach of the caverns. Unless he wanted to start wandering around in the dark, he was stuck with the contents of the burrow.

He shuddered. He had learnt enough since arriving that wandering around after dark would probably be the last thing he ever did.

_Almost got it... just pull this away..._

_There_! He levered the rock aside and grabbed at the first thing that moved.

A squealing, squalling mass of muscle and fur shot out and lunged at his face, sharp incisors flashing in his vision as it scraped at his cowl. B'brk'ah yelped with shock and flailed with his gaffi, earning a lucky hit on the side of its jaw and making it jumped off him at the sudden pain. In the dusk light he caught a glimpse of a short, bristly pelt and a snarling mouth filled with sharp teeth.

He sucked in a breath. A womp rat!

The thing was as big as he was, but still not fully grown. If it had been he would have been killed outright.

B'brk'ah held his gaffi on front of him and backed away, before stopping. The thing was mad. He had disturbed it. It would come after him. He couldn't outrun it. _Never leave a live enemy behind you. _

Bashing it wouldn't even dent its fur, but a gaffi had two ends, after all...

It gave no time for him to think further, because it was _there_, scrabbling at his robes and snapping at his eyes, trying to hook its jaws through his mask and bite at his face, but B'brk'ah swung the gaffi up and stabbed sideways, so it leapt back shrieking and shaking its head, blood oozing out of its ear. It snarled and spat, then charged again.

B'brk'ah brought up his gaffi to meet it.

A second confusion, a sharp scream that echoed off the canyon walls and a weight that threw him flat on his back and made him yelp again in terror, before it slackened and lay heavy on top of him, something warm trickling down to splatter through his eye slit onto his face. It tasted coppery.

He spat and heaved the weight off, then looked down at it.

The womp rat lay at his feet; teeth bared in a death grimace showing prominent fangs as long as his fingers, mouth filled with B'brk'ah's gaffi stick. The tip of the stick protruded ever so slightly out from behind its skull, its ends crusted and leaking a dark fluid. The same dark fluid dribbled from the rats open mouth.

B'brk'ah knelt down very cautiously, and tried to pull his gaffi out of its mouth. No luck: the womp rat had lunged with full force and driven the stick in too hard for a five-year-old to pull out. Oh well, at least he had a good way of dragging it back.

He picked up the blunt end of the gaffi and pulled, feeling his arms ache just at the first step, but persisting as he scrambled towards the Burrows entrance. He felt himself grin as wide as a dragon as he felt the rat bump over the rocks behind him, a swelling feeling filling his chest. He had made his first kill! His first ever kill! And it was _huge_!

Dad would have been proud.

Dad was not the only one; when he got deeper into the burrows KReu'Ar almost fainted with shock at the size of the thing bumping after him. Her startled yelp brought half the clan running, only to find a dusty, bloody, but happy uli'ah hauling a rat as big as himself before his pleased mother. Ur'Uruuga lifted the tired boy on his shoulders and whooped with pride, telling all nearby he had chosen well at the oasis all those months ago. There was a general cheerful agreement, which made B'brk'ah swing his feet and hide his cowl in embarrassment.

KReu'Ar noticed her uli'ah'sawkwardness and shooed the onlookers away, rebuked Ur'Uruuga and pulling down B'brk'ah and taking him inside the tent, scolding her mate all the while.

((Can't you see he is tired?))

Ur'Uruuga snorted in discomfiture and picked up the womp rat, still glowing with pride. ((See the size of this, mate. And from such a young uli'ah! He will be an asset to the clan.))

((He won't be if he stays without food much longer. She brandished her own gaderafi and started to cut up the rat, depositing chunks in a stewpot hanging over a small fire in the middle. The warm light made her mask shine and her decorations gleam. B'brk'ah, go and sleep until it is ready.))

((Yes mama.)) He dived into the blankets by the edge of the firelight and settled down, still aching from the fight above ground. The two Tuskens regarded him fondly as he started to breathe deeply.

((He never calls you _father_, you know,)) KReu'Ar said softly, starting to stir the stewpot.

((It makes no difference.)) Ur'Uruuga gathered the remains and moved them outside, listening to the massifs fight over the bones. ((He respects me, and that is enough.))

((There are some that still mutter about keeping an outlander with us.))

He grunted, and exhaled loudly. ((They were quick enough to accept Hett's leadership before.))

((_He_ earned his way into the clan. They whisper that an outlander child will cause us sorrow, anger the spirits...))

((Hmpf. They had better accept our little one, before I decide to teach them a few spirit lessons with my gaderafi.))

((_Is_ he our little one?)) KReu'Ar murmured softly, pausing in her stirring. ((He would leave if he could, you know that. He watches the desert, hoping to be taken away.)) Her voice broke a little. ((What if someone should? Must we lose another child?))

((No-one will come, and he will forget. It is not the Ghorfa way to dwell on things we cannot control)) Ur'Uruuga put his arm around her shoulders comfortingly. ((He is our little one, and he will grow to be a fine hunter and a warrior, and when he is old enough he will teach the mutterers that he is Ghorfa.))

His mate resumed her stirring, and under the blankets B'brk'ah lay wide-eyed, not daring to move.

* * *

"He's back?" 

"For all the good he is, yes."

"You're too hard on him."

"_You're_ too soft. He needs to pull himself together."

"He has. That's the problem."

A pause, such as might be made by two people, neither of whom like the other very much, thinking of something to say that won't result in a fight.

"How long do you think he'll stay this time?"

"Long enough to satisfy the long-necks, then back to hunting, same as ever"

"Unhelpful. How long is_ long enough?_"

"Maybe four weeks. You know he can't bear to stay any more than that."

Another pause, longer this time. It stretched further than was really comfortable.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?

"Of course. Aren't you?"

"We aren't his nannies. You can't cluck and settle feathers over him like you did his spawn."

One more, final, pause. The second speaker indicated by it that while his counterpart may have a point, he was damned if he was going to agree out loud. The first made an attempt at resolving the matter.

"Blast him anyway. It's been _months_ since Tatooine. Why is he still moping?"

"That's the problem. He isn't moping. He isn't _anything_. He just does his job and goes."

"So do we, Skitira."

"_We_ have something to go to, Vau."

* * *

The tribe was due to leave the next day, so B'brk'ah didn't have much time to spare. While the grown-ups gathered in small groups and scouted outside for safe routes, he sat in a small side cavern with the clan massifs, the cracked womp rat skull beside him. The massifs growled and fought over the thigh bones of the stinking corpse, as he patiently knocked at the biggest of the teeth with his miniature gaffi, chopping a small hole in the thickest part with the needle-tip. 

((What you doing?))

B'brk'ah looked up, startled, then growled. An uli'ah slightly bigger than he was standing in the cave entrance, and he saw by the tattered hem of its robes that it was the same one from the gather.

((Not your business,)) he muttered, hoping it would take the hint and shut up. It didn't.

((Why you scrabbling in the bone pile?)) it asked, head tilted.

B'brk'ah looked around for help, but the spirits had abandoned him. He gave up and mumbled, ((making a present for mama.))

To his surprise, the uli'ah only croaked one laugh, before plonking itself down beside him and examining the already-prepared teeth. It pointed at his robes. What is that?

B'brk'ah looked down, seeing where its rag-wrapped finger was indicating. Smiling behind his mask, he plucked at the bantha horn charm sewn onto his front. ((Mama gave it to me. She said it would keep me safe and make me as brave as a bantha.)) He hesitated, but the other didn't seem so bad right now. ((What is your name?))

((K'RruR'or. We live in the big tent by the entrance, because papa guards there and he can't leave us for very long, he has to guard against outlanders. Papa does not like outlanders very much, he says they are all cowards, but you are an outlander and you killed that big womp rat so I think maybe–))

((I am _Ghorfa_,)) he snarled at her, irritated but also interested. A K' suffix meant 'daughter of'. Great, a girl was all he needed.

((Well that might explain it then, because an outlander would never dare kill a big womp rat, so maybe there are some outlanders who are born Ghorfa, but that should mean some Ghorfa must be born outlander, although that might be true because Urr'gHor _acts_ like an outlander. I don't like Urr'gHor, he is nasty, and you are not nasty, so maybe you are more a–))

((Shut up.)) B'brk'ah wondered if girls were naturally this annoying.

((I was only _saying_,)) she said huffily. B'brk'ah jumped in before she started doing something... girlish.

((Why are you here?))

((Well I saw you drag in the womp rat, and there aren't any other uli'ah to play with apart from my sister K'gGr'ah and my brother A'RruR'or, and they are too little to play properly, so maybe we could play together, only papa might be mad but I think it might be good to try –))

((You want to be friends with me?)) He asked in disbelief. Dad had said bounty hunters didn't have friends, and B'brk'ah thought he might have had a point, if they were all as bothersome as this girl.

((Yes, that is what I _said_.))

He thought about it. The girl, annoying though she was, had a point when she said there was no-one else around. All the other uli'ah were either toddlers, like K'gGr'ah, or nearing their adult ceremonies like Urr'gHor. So even he told her to go away, she might come back out of sheer desperation.

((Fine. Only don't make me mess this up.)) He turned back to his teeth, ignoring her as she picked up her own gaffi and tried to help by setting to work on another. At least she was being useful.

((What was it like being an outlander?)) she asked absently, tackling a particularly big tooth. He repressed the urge to snarl again, sensing she was just curious.

((It was a bit strange.)) He thought it over, trying to remember. ((There was more water.))

((More? Like more water-sacks?))

((No, big land filled up with water so it covered the whole place, and dropped down from the sky.))

((Water doesn't drop from the sky!)) she said scornfully.

((It did so! And there was another all covered in outlander tents, so you had to walk across them instead of the ground, and it had big fat outlanders with no feet in it!))

K'RruR'or regarded him with awe. ((Really? You swear?))

((I swear by the suns. I used to live in the water-land with...)) he faltered a bit (( with my outlander papa, but another outlander who worked for the big fat ones came and took me away and I ended up here. We flew in a metal gourd through the stars.))

He felt his chest swell up as K'RruR'or looked impressed. He'd done more than she ever had, and it was nice that she knew that as well now.

((Why is your outlander papa not here, then?)) she asked.

B'brk'ah deflated, feeling the funny tickling he always felt when he thought of dad. He looked down at his tooth, now almost done. ((The fat outlander said he was dead. I think they are right, or he would have come by now.))

((You are lucky, or he would have made you a cowardly outlander instead of being a brave Ghorfa like us, even if you would have had more water–))

((He was not a coward!)) B'brk'ah yelled at her, tooth forgotten ((He was brave and clever and the best hunter _ever_!))

((He can't have been so great if he is dead,)) she said reasonably.

((He was so, he just... got unlucky or something. Or they tricked him.)) B'brk'ah subsided and resisted the urge to snuffle. Stupid girl, what did she know anyway?

There was a long silence, while both of them worked away at the teeth. However, K'RruR'or couldn't shut up for long. ((Maybe your outlander papa was really a Ghorfa, but he did not know. That means–)) she brightened up ((–that means that _you_ must be Ghorfa as well, because you are brave and so was he, and Ghorfa are brave and loyal and fierce as the suns.))

B'brk'ah thought about this. He wasn't sure about it, but then he remembered Dad being brave and fierce sometimes (mostly when he didn't tidy up his toys), so maybe he _was_ Ghorfa.

And it would shut K'RruR'or up, anyway.

((He might have been,)) he said finally.

That's good then, she said, sounding reassured. ((Papa won't mind me being friends with a Ghorfa.))

B'brk'ah said nothing, but finished his tooth and strung it on the plaited bits of cloth he had ripped off his rob. Mama wouldn't like it that he had done that, but B'brk'ah figured that she might be so pleased about the necklace that she would forget to be angry.

A snort like an angry bantha made him jump, almost dropping the necklace. A rag-swaddled Ghorfa, too big to have an uli'ah cowl but not old enough for warrior spines in its head wraps was looking at them with disgust.

((Better get away from the outlander, K'RruR'or,)) it sneered harshly, ((you might get mistaken for one.))

B'brk'ah felt his ears grow warm. Stupid dung-head Urr'gHor was here. The spirits must hate him today.

He opened his mouth to respond, but K'RruR'or got there first. ((Go away. He is more Ghorfa than you. You are just a womp rat that got lost and ended up in out tents.))

_I gotta remember that_, he thought, impressed. The big one snarled.

((Big words from a little uli'ah that plays in bone heaps with outlanders.))

K'RruR'or stood up, and B'brk'ah hastily followed suit, hanging on tightly to both his necklace and his gaffi, and checking to make sure Bandy was still tied up tight to his back. ((Go away, or I will tell papa how you missed sentry duty so you could go and hunt Duodecipedes.))

Urr'gHor snorted, but he heard the threat and scrambled down the cubby-hole entrance away from them. B'brk'ah felt a huge grin spread under his cowl.

Maybe a friend wouldn't be so bad.


	9. Chapter 9

Chenini, the most erratic of Tatooines moons, was setting as the tribe moved out that dawn. The night had been filled with rituals to appease the spirits; each warrior had been blessed and doubly blessed, and now carried gaderafi sticks and looted metal dirks. Their mates sat beside them, carrying ancient Cyclers, and even the uli'ah were armed, because there was a raid on and even the smallest hand can strike a blow or pull a trigger.

B'brk'ah was excited. He had never been on a real raid before, not a proper one. Of course, forays were made all the time, usually to outlander farms and isolated homesteads, but this time the clan had gathered to attack the local Jawa swapmeet. It would be the last big raid before the storms, and the last to get good loot.

K'RruR'or was even more excited than he was. She had her own gaffi stick, and was animatedly waving it in demonstration of what she was going to do to the Jawas when they attacked. B'brk'ah, feeling he should uphold his genders' reputation, remained aloof. In truth, he was just as eager as her.

((Papa said a quick blow to the head is best but I heard the warriors talking and they say when you face an enemy the same size as you have to stab at the chest. You are lucky, you have a spare rifle, I can only come in after the first attack, but you can shoot them and claim a fair kill –))

((Shut up.)) Most of their friendship the last two-thirds of the birthing season had consisted of her talking and him telling her to be quiet, which seemed to work out fairly well. K'RruR'or was naturally talkative, B'brk'ah was naturally not. It was a good partnership, and one he was glad to have made, despite K'RruR'ors' loose tongue, bossiness and annoying habit of arguing with him whenever he suggested something.

((Papa wants us to loot something good; he says we need the metal.)) The uli'ah looked a little downcast, and B'brk'ah knew why. K'RruR'ors' family was relatively poor as Ghorfa saw these things, with three uli'ah younglings too young for the adult rites taking a strain on their share of the resources. K'RruR'ors' tattered robes and scuffed foot wraps were mute testament that sometimes the resources didn't find their way to the bottom of the pile.

((Look, they are going, look!))

They _were_ going. B'brk'ah got up quickly and scurried to his mothers' bantha, scrambling up so fast he almost dropped the antique Tusken Cycler Ur'Uruuga had given him. It took ages to load and knocked him backwards when it fired, but it was the best an _uli'ah_ his age would get. KReu'Ar grabbed him and sat him back as the tribe took off, heading to the canyon of the Jawa meet.

_Soon_, he thought as the bantha rocked uncomfortably and almost made him drop the Cycler again, _I will get my own bantha and then I will not have to double up anymore. And K'RruR'or will have one as well and we can go exploring properly. _

It was something to look forward to, but there was still a whole sandstorm season to go through before the day came, since tribe tradition dictated uli'ah and their bantha cubs were paired at the Gafsa oasis during the birthing period. It seemed ages away.

The lead warrior bellowed and kicked his bantha down the canyon wall, sparking a wave of cries and whoops down the line, and a thunder of hairy feet on hard rock. B'brk'ah almost swallowed his tongue as his mothers' bantha surged forward, and he could hear K'RruR'or howling with glee behind him. He screeched a cry of his own, caught up in the excitement and the bloodlust and the pounding of the banthas' heavy feet like a war drum.

They crossed the crest of the canyon and thundered down into chaos.

Jawas were running everywhere, screaming and bawling and yelling alarms in their own language, while fierce rag-wrapped Ghorfa warriors swept among them on bantha-back or slaughtering the hapless creatures on foot. Behind them came uli'ah and the older women, striking with gaderafis and picking off those that managed to avoid the first onslaught. Scattered among them a few active droids added metallic squeals of their own, stirring the ferment into a storm of brutal fear.

In the middle of the mayhem B'brk'ah swung his rifle about wildly, trying to pick a target that wasn't about to become a bantha or a Ghorfa fighter. A lone Jawa, shrieking and firing indiscriminately with its ion pistol, caught his attention and he swiped the muzzle around, firing through the haze of dust.

KReu'Ar screamed as the kickback pushed him out of the saddle, to land with a thump among the turmoil of blood and sand and trampling bantha feet. Panicked, he rolled out of the way of a crazed mount, whirling the Cycler to keep back the press. The tribe banthas recognised him as their own, but in the press they simply had nowhere else to go, and he was forced to run for the nearest bit of clear space available, regardless of what was there already.

"_Hkeek nkulla_!" The screech made him jump and spin wildly, smacking the attacking Jawa by sheer luck. It flew backwards and jumped up unhurt, running at him again with a vicious shriek and a brandished pistol. He aimed blindly and fired by instinct.

The Jawas' chest exploded in a splatter of gore, showering the sand with blood and chips of bone and sending B'brk'ah flying rearward to land on his back. He breathed out in relief as he got up, hardly noticing that the rest were almost all dead, the last few being finished off around him. Inside the sandcrawlers screeches were sounding, indicating the moping up of any foolish enough to think they could hide in the great vehicles.

((You made a kill! You made a kill!))

He turned around in time to catch a blur of dusty robes and a gory cowl, before K'RruR'or engulfed him in a hug. Feeling his face grow hotter than the sun could excuse, he wriggled out of the embrace embarrassedly and looked anywhere but at his friend. No prisoners were being taken, the trek to the Needles being more important the blood rites at this late stage of the raid season. B'brk'ah knew he should be sorry at the missed opportunity, but right now in the aftermath of the battle and backflow of adrenaline he just felt happy.

He prodded at the Jawa, unable to believe he had actually caused this being to... cease to be. It was amazing. It was also a little scary.

A shiny object fell out of the creatures' flaccid hand, and he picked it up. It was a small ring of metal, hexagonal and shiny on the outside with a rubbed-smooth centre. He put it in his pouch with the rest of his treasures.

A new figure hurried towards the uli'ah, and B'brk'ah found himself being hugged into a new set of wraps. He faintly heard K'RruR'or giggling as his mother scolded him for not seeking her out at once, then exclaiming over his kill and telling him how proud she was...

((Gerrof,)) he muttered into her robes, feeling his ears burn but inwardly thankful she was there. In the previous confusion of the skirmish it had been all too easy to think she wasn't going to find him at all. ((Mama, stop _fussing_.))

He heard K'RruR'or scamper off to start sorting the spoils littered amongst the carnage, and saw Ur'Uruuga approaching as his mothers' robes drew back. More to stop his guardian making a fuss as well, he scurried after K'RruR'or to help sort the treasure from the junk.

There were a lot of both, in and out the sandcrawlers. The uli'ah ran inside the cool interior of the biggest, remembering as he did so a silver ship and...a big outlander with hair the colour of blood...

((Suns, Jawas pick up the strangest junk.))

Shaking himself out his reverie, B'brk'ah went to help K'RruR'or gather the plundered cargo.

* * *

The suns were setting, sending streaks of gold and red and orange across the darkening sky, in a striped kaleidoscope that swirled like the splashes of colour on a dragon pearl. It was mirrored by the fires below, as the story-dance progressed. 

Ghorfa in masks cavorted among ones in heavy cloaks meant to represent Jawa robes, making _pop-pop_ noises for slugthrowers and howling war cries. The robes Ghorfa chattered and screamed like their prey, eventually all falling to the ground and lying still as the others leapt above them and shouted victorious bellows into the evening air.

B'brk'ah watched everything wide-eyed, safe in the shelter of his mothers robes. Across the fire circle he could see K'RruR'or, watching and for once as silent as he was. They both liked the story dances.

He turned his cowl upwards to the emerging stars, peeking through the aurora of sunset light in the sky. Somewhere up there was a world filled with water, a world he had almost forgotten in the two standard years he had been here, filled with creatures that now seemed to be some sort of dream.

Snuggling down against his mother, he curled into a rest position and hugged Bandy against his cowl in a barely-remembered gesture of comfort, rubbing the joining of one of his hind legs where a circle of crude stitches fixed it to the body...

He had a picture in his head of the fixing taking place, of a hazy blue-and-brown blur patiently sewing the offending leg back on, of the same blur sitting in a chair in a dark room speaking softly about warriors and battles and heroes. He knew who the blur was, and how he had been important but... it was all so long ago now. And the blur was dead anyway, so there was no real point in thinking about him.

Ghorfa believed that dead warriors went to live in the sky among the spirits, where they could hunt forever and never go hungry. They believed that the stars were the campfires of the dead, and when they fell it was a ghost coming to either help or harm the living.

B'brk'ah looked up and fixed his eye slit on the stars. Somewhere up there the blur of his outlander papa was maybe looking down on him right now. Maybe he was pleased with his son. B'brk'ah hoped so.

The story ended and KReu'Ar gave him a small shove, indicating he should go and sleep. Worn out by the day's excitement, he nodded groggily and headed for their tent, grabbing a handful of the sleeping furs and burrowing down against the chill, falling into a deep slumber almost instantly.

He dreamt of hunting among the stars, looking down to see the sleeping village and laughing, because beside him his papa was holding his hand and whispering in the tongue of outlanders_ one day, son, you will know how proud I am of you._

* * *

The Boltrunian snarled, spitting curses at the uncaring shadows. Brash front covering a frightened heart, he turned to the other pirates and spat out, "_Move_ it you slugs! He'll be right behind us!" 

Grumbling and muttering, the motley lot, some with fresh burns and scars, dragged themselves onwards. Huddling together, they made their way through the streets of lower Bilbousa, rain pattering down on their lowered heads.

"Waz," one whimpered, "Waz, I can hear something..."

He turned sharply. The street was as dark and deserted as ever.

"Shut it Pek, and keep moving," he said. "If we get to the ship, we're safe."

Encouraged, they staggered on. Suddenly one stopped dead.

"Waz, I can _see_ him..." his voice a terrified whisper. Waz looked at the street and saw something too, a deeper shadow in the eave of one of the buildings. The moon shadow turned it into a hunched figure with a glaring visor.

Then it was gone.

"Keep your eyes open," he whispered harshly, tasting dry fear in his mouth. "Icky, get out your blaster."

A wet sound came from behind him, and he spun around with the rest. Icky was gone, a charred and shredded lump of meat in his place. For some reason the eyes were still there in the mess, glaring at him.

It was still silent. So very silent. For some reason that was the scariest thing about it...

The pirates huddled together, some of them crying in fear. The youngest of them, a teenage Lowen called Holg, was sniffling for his mum. They crouched in silence, too terrified to move.

Waz cleared his throat. "I think he's gone–" a crunch sounded and he swung to see Holg.

His head had exploded.

Dry-mouthed, he looked at the remainder. Only two of his original crew of six remained.

"Pek, Jered," he croaked, "let's get the hell out of here."

The two nodded hastily, scuttling near to him as if sheltering in his mass. They hurried down the street, almost at the lights of the main entertainment sector...

_Please_, he thought, _please let us make it to the lights..._

He heard a rip and a gasp, then a bubbling sound. Pek had fallen, the Human clutching his stomach with both hands. Looking closely, Waz could see the hole he was trying to hold closed, gaping like a grinning mouth. The sickening glisten of his guts slipped mushily through his fingers.

Howling in horror, Jered fled down the street, desperately trying to make it to the lights of safety. Waz sped after him, knowing with a certainty you could hammer iron with that if he stayed on his own, he was dead. Sobbing with fear, he tried to catch up with the Nikto.

Then suddenly he was seeing the daylight through the Niktos' head, and he was turning around, arms wide open as if to give him a hug. Howling, Waz ducked underneath and made a final, frantic bid towards the beckoning lights.

An unseen force tripped him, and he sprawled on the ground. Huddled and crying, he turned to meet his death, raising his hands to shield his eyes from the figure who wore the mist like a second cloak.

It lifted its hand. Metal glinted in the lights of the downtown lights.

"Please!" he screamed, "_Pleeeeeease..._"

There was a flash, and for Waz the world ended. What was left of his chest hit the ground with a wet _smack_, right in the path of the Boltrunians killer.

Jango kicked it aside with disdain, and carried on down to the lights.

* * *

((I hate sandstorm season,)) K'RruR'or grumbled as they listened to the wind howl outside. ((It is boring and cramped and –)) 

((Shut up,)) B'brk'ah groaned. ((You make it worse when you moan.))

((We need to _do_ something. The storm is almost over anyway!))

B'brk'ah said nothing, but he silently agreed. Most of the season so far had been spent sitting in tents or playing tag with the others. All very well and good, but a little on the boring side...

((You know,)) he said thoughtfully, ((I heard Urr'gHor talking with those stupid friends of his about a cave full of dragon bones. We could go and see it.))

K'RruR'or thought about this, but not for long. B'brk'ah was usually the one to come up with ideas, and she was the one that charged in after he had pointed the way. Caution was not a word in either of their vocabularies.

((Sounds good,)) she said finally. ((As soon as the storm blows over?))

B'brk'ah nodded and grinned under his cowl. Time for some fun.

* * *

Jango checked the credit transfer on his datapad, noting without any particular satisfaction that the full amount had been paid. The pirate gang he had eliminated out there hadn't really done anything particularly evil; they'd just tried to blackmail one of the Hutts best weapons dealers. A big mistake and an ultimately fatal one. 

At least he had been able to test out his new ammo. He'd managed to get hold of some special powder-filled slugs that exploded on impact, something he had put to good effect on that Lowen. And that Zabrak, Icky, had had the honour of being the subject of a little experiment of his, a hollowed plastic slug filled with explosives and flammable ship fuel. The result had been quite spectacular, if a little messy.

He climbed on board and ran another scan on the bounty lists, watching information scroll by. Blackmailers, cheats, petty thieves, philanthropists... all ordinary everyday scum, with ordinary everyday bounties. Uninteresting.

One bounty caught his eye, and he stopped with a whispered oath.

Gardulla the Hutt. 500,000 credits, hard cash, last seen on Ryloth. Bounty put there by the Black Sun, perhaps as a protest to her increased clout in the slaving circles. But it didn't matter, not really.

Jango hadn't gone after Gardulla as he had with Grillip, partly because he had been incapable of pursuing quarry so important... at that time, and partly because a vendetta with the Hutts was something he hadn't really needed. But if it was a _bounty_...

What mattered is that now his sons' enslaver had a substantial price on her head, one he felt rather determined to collect before any other two-bit hunter who had never even _had_ a family saw the amount and decided to have a go.

It was either that or the cold white halls of Tipoca City, wandering like some forlorn ghost between classes. Much better to be on the move, with the thrill of the hunt and the blood of the chase rushing in his ears and setting his heart pounding, blocking out the memories.

_Just you wait, you fat bitch. There is _nowhere_ you can hide from me now. _

* * *

Most of the sand squalls had died down, a few scattering grains over the Wastes and pushing the two small robed figures armed with miniature gaffi sticks. Moving furtively to the ledge that shadowed the rocks in front of them, they came to the outcropping. It didn't look big enough to hide anything. 

Keeping a close eye on the hollow, B'brk'ah saw it in fact had a small hole at the back, large enough for a small Ghorfa or a large squib to slide down- slide into total darkness. The air at the opening smelt rank.

K'RruR'or didn't seem to be as apprehensive as he was starting to feel. ((Let's go!))

He slung his gaffi on his back with Bandy and went flat on his belly. Scraping past the jagged rocks, she pulled herself into the hole. His hand slipped and he slid a few feet uncontrollably, hearing his friend giggling madly and skidding down behind him.

Digging his toes in, he halted. Listening hard, he edged onward, feeling K'RruR'or bump into his feet, as he slid in total blackness on grit towards the foundation of the cave.

When the bottom finally came, it was hard rock with the harsh sound of sand over its surface. He shivered in the cold, a shock from the boiling surface. B'brk'ah clutched at his wraps as K'RruR'or landed beside him with a wet thump. It was pitch black and stunk and silent as a tomb.

He wished he hadn't thought of that.

((Are you sure this is the right cave?)) K'RruR'or asked. She moved forward and he heard something crunch.

((Oh.)) She turned his eyeslit downwards and saw what she had trodden in. ((We are.))

It was a skull.

B'brk'ah picked it up. It wasn't a Dragon skull by a long shot; it looked as though it belonged to a womp rat, or maybe a small eopie. Both were Dragon food though.

It wasn't really a comforting idea...

((We need some light,)) he muttered.

K'RruR'or reached into her pouch and drew out a smooth rod, before starting to shake it. B'brk'ah stared.

His friend caught his look. ((I found it in the sandcrawler; papa said I could keep it. If you wave it around it glows.))

A dim green glow surrounded them in a phosphorous pool, not so much illuminating as outlining the darkness.

A growl sounded. They both froze.

((B'brk'ah,)) K'RruR'or whimpered, ((was that a Dragon? Please say it was not.))

There was another growl, lower and meaner. It sounded hungry. B'brk'ah resisted the urge to squeal and run in circles.

((I think we should get out,)) he whispered, looking around. He could vaguely remember where they had slid down; they could try and get back up to the surface...

A roar split the frozen air, making them both scream involuntarily. B'brk'ah grabbed his friend and ran for the opening, hearing stamping sounds and another scream as they both dived for the lip of the tunnel. He tripped and fell flat in the bones outside as the stomping got louder. K'RruR'or shrieked as he struggled to get up.

_Maybe I can drive it off_, he thought wildly as he heard more pounding noises and the scrape of scattered bones, knowing he wouldn't make it to the edge in time. He scrambled to his feet and turned as a roar sounded almost by his ear, screeching a war cry and flailing with his gaffi to where he thought the sound had come from. It hit something soft.

((Oof!))

B'brk'ah felt his jaw drop as the dim glow of the rod lit up the lanky figure in front of him. It was Urr'gHor, holding his a dent in his stomach robes and groaning with pain. For a moment he just stood and stared, hearing K'RruR'or start to titter, drunk with relief.

((_I... am... gonna... kill you_,)) Urr'gHor growled through gasps for air.

B'brk'ah ran for the tunnel, not wanting to wait for it to happen.

* * *

Jango shifted and checked the minutes until re-emergence, feeling more alive than he had for the last two years. 

During past jobs he had felt nothing like this, just a grim resolve to get the job done. Before this concentration had been enough, just enough, to stave off the deadness he felt otherwise, the deadness he had felt during his darkest moments on the spice freighter, or as a bounty hunter before the Vosa bounty and... his reward.

He had built a shell for himself, of willpower and cold logic and ruthless pragmatism, so that his already-exceptional bounty hunting skills had been honed enough for him to be truly the best in the galaxy. And in his mind, around his only weak spot – the one that generated the dreams he still had whenever he was foolish enough to try and sleep in a bed – he had thrown up another shell, cocooning the memory of his little son in detached practicality and aloofness, as a Mon Calimarian oyster might cover a piece of grit to make a pearl. In the back of his mind, a pearl of his own had been created, a shrine to a precious memory.

Stars bloomed, and the_ Slave I_ dropped into Ryloth space, and almost immediately the consol alarms blared. A squad of Hutt fighters swarmed around a yacht that, when scanned, came up as entitled _Sun Dream_.

Well, well. Looked like Gardulla had heard of her bounty.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him as he dived down on the hapless fighters like a hawk-bat. Making sure to keep half an eye on the panicking yacht, he mercilessly demolished its escort, destroying ship after ship until the last, wisely, decided that they had appointments _elsewhere_.

Then he turned to the yacht.

Over the ship comlink a desperate voice squawked in Huttese as he primed his torpedoes, offering credits and power and slaves if only he would stop, reconsider, turn away, let them carry on in peace...

_Too late. Far too late. _

A final screech sounded, begging for mercy as he pressed down on the trigger.

Then the inferno sprouted, blast after blast discharging in a chain of fire that spouted until it reached the bulkhead, which exploded in a ball of gas and dust.

Jango stared at the orb of devastation for a while. He had waited so long, so very long. For two years he would have given _everything_ to do this, for two years he had walked in his bleak reverie and dreamt of this moment. He had killed his sons' enslaver, the Hutt responsible for the very circumstances of his death. Surely he should feel satisfied, pleased at his revenge?

He waited for the happiness to kick in.

It never did.

* * *

B'brk'ah stroked Bandy, before placing the toy that had seen so much in an old carry pack hung up on the tents walls. It was time to let go. 

He went outside to the oasis, where a small knot of Ghorfa had gathered. In the middle of the group was K'RruR'or – shuffling her feet in unusual embarrassment – and a cluster of blinking bantha cubs, all between two and three birthing season old. He scurried over to join them, and ducked to stand by his friend.

Behind him he heard his mother give a pleased grunt, Ur'Uruuga croak something encouraging. He shared a glance with K'RruR'or through his eyeslit and stepped forward with her, heart pounding.

It was time for them both to receive mounts, and the day was both exciting and frightening, for while a mount was a Ghorfas' constant companion in life, failure to bond would mean exile into the desert and certain death. And if the mount died in later life – as Ur'Uruugas' had – chances were slim that another would consent to join with the lone Ghorfa.

The Urr'Ak stood with the tribe shaman, who was holding two cubs by their fuzzy scruffs. They were both the same size, but while one bawled and struggled, fluffing out its fur, the other stood and watched calmly, regarding the proceedings with a sombre stare.

Very tentatively, B'brk'ah reached out and petted the quiet ones' soft nose. It snuffled and licked his gloved hand, before regarding quizzically from under a hairy brow and lowing.

He got the distinct impression it was saying _all right, if you really must. _

Smiling a hidden Ghorfa smile, he hugged his new companion around the neck and scratched it behind its growing horns, and watched as K'RruR'or patted her cub shyly. For now, at least, they had done all right.


	10. Chapter 10

There are some memories that stay in your mind, highlighted in vivid detail forever.

For Jango there were many –battles, a broken face above Mandalorian armour, a squalling baby, a picture in primary colours of blue and yellow and red. The sound of laughter. The sound of crying. A hot day on a planet so far away now, when he had been so young he didn't know how young he was, and had snapped a leaf from one of the farms' crop plants. The sap had smelt fresh and cool in the stifling air.

And this, which was happening just as he thought of that day and remembered that smell.

He had been training the ARCs, bound by duty and not a little weariness. For now the thrill of the hunt had worn off and he had a week – maybe two – before he was urged to go back out into the galaxy and seek solace from the memories of his empty quarters.

They had been getting worse as Boba's eighth birthday drew near, and he was sure his pupils could tell. The fact that he couldn't even _look_ at them some days without the recollections snapping his soul into a thousand painful shards that stabbed from the inside probably gave the game away.

One of the ARCs, who were now nearing their biological ages of sixteen, came up to him when he allowed a two minute rest break. They were all quick learners, but this one was even quicker. Jango faintly remembered his fellows referring to him as Fordo.

The smaller being, his face a perfect younger reflection of his templates' own, was silent as he held out something in his bare hand.

It was ration bar.

For a moment Jango just stared at it, nonplussed. He wasn't hungry. _They_ shouldn't be hungry. What was the kid up to? He could feel his class of nine other clones watching the exchange.

The kid in question mumbled something uncomfortable, staring at his boots. Jango caught the phrase 'feel better'.

"Repeat it again, and louder."

The ARC scuffed his feet like any normal teenager and spoke quietly, still looking at his toes. "We thought you should feel better, sir. Food helps."

Jango stared further, at a loss. They... _they_, who would live half a normal life in service to a corrupt regime, who would likely die before they had reached even the end of _that_ truncated duration... _they_ felt sorry for _him_. And they tried to do something about it. To help in the only way they knew how.

The ramparts of his self-imposed discipline and detached reason stopped him from smiling, but it didn't stop him taking the ration bar. He cleared his throat.

"Alright, rest over. Let's try some drop kicks."

No, it would take more than a simple chunk of protein and nutrition to break through those walls. But Jango would remember it afterwards, as he fingered the wrapper gently, of how the ARC had held out the only thing he had to give, to a man he had nothing to thank for.

* * *

Flashbulb memories are not only limited to humans. 

B'brk'ah in contrast had very few – the Gafsa oasis, the smell of armour polish and metal and soap all mixed up together, the eyes of his bantha. Various sunsets, his first ever kill. Simple things.

And this day.

He and K'RruR'or had found a gorg nest, and were digging enthusiastically. Gorg meat tasted fresh and moist, and they were difficult to catch, but B'brk'ah was confident he could grab a few. He had already become a dead shot with the rusted old Cycler Ur'Uruuga let him use.

((Bet you won't catch anything,)) K'RruR'or teased as they neared the nest.

((You watch. I will catch twice as many as you!))

((Oh great hunter,)) she mumbled sarcastically.

((I am happy you have noticed.))

They had reached the nest, and all the gorgs had shot out at once, K'RruR'or grabbed and missed, B'brk'ah dived for the amphibians and fallen flat in the sand, and pretty soon they were running without thought for wasted energy, until they finally gave up and lay giggling in the sand, while their bantha looked on with animal amusement.

B'brk'ah straightened his new robes. His mother had given them to him only a few suns before, despairing that she should find anything to fit after all of his recent growth spurts. They were a little too long and the metal uli'ah-helmet had been replaced with a simple wrapped mask like her mates', but they still kept to tradition. K'RruR'or had a similar attire, but more shabby.

His bantha nudged at his hand, and he gave it a lazy scratch. Ghorfa didn't name their banthas, the very concept was alien to them and to B'brk'ah. Would you name your hand, or your foot? A bantha was as much a part of a Ghorfa as either of those.

And B'brk'ah didn't need a name to distinguish his bantha. Like its owner it was quiet, watchful and cunning, well able to give a sneaky trip or nudge when it was displeased. B'brk'ah sometimes thought his bantha wasn't so much an appendage like the others were for their riders, but a partner in his own right. Certainly he was useful and intelligent.

K'RruR'ors bantha snuffled her neck, making her giggle. _Banthas' grow like their owners _was a Ghorfa saying, and this held true with those two as well as he and his. Both were boisterous, bossy, garrulous, and reckless. But at least thank to his growth spurts they were no longer that much bigger than he was.

((Some great hunter,)) his friend snorted through her tired sniggers, ((you cannot even catch gorg!))

B'brk'ah flicked sand at her. ((_You_ did not even graze their hides!))

K'RruR'or flicked sand back, resulting in a full blown flicking battle. Sand flew everywhere, most of it pattering off their eye tubes or worming its way into their robes. B'brk'ah finally ran for his bantha, who echoed his joyful whoop with a bellow of its own.

((Can't catch me!))

K'RruR'or scrambled up. ((Can so! Beat you there!))

((Race?))

((Race!))

They didn't mount their banthas, knowing the cubs were still too small to ride, but they grabbed their fur and let the animals help pull them along, until B'brk'ah was almost skimming the ground in a wobbly flash.

They reached the tents of the camp, but the wind and the dust and the flying rocks blinded them so much that in the end they both tripped and loosed hold of their mounts, tumbling over and over and down until everything became just a smear of ochre and pale blue.

And _that_ was what B'brk'ah would always remember afterwards, the dizzy rush, the thrill and the ache of his helpless laughter as the world blurred into an eternal celebration of the sand and the sky, with his friend and his bantha beside him.

* * *

"Off again?" 

Jango didn't look around, but carried on packing things into his kitbag. "None of your business, Skitira."

"I make it my business nowadays." _I bet you do_. "Those aiwha-baits aren't going to be very happy with you this time. You set a new record."

He had. This particular stay had only lasted two weeks, before he had finally grown sick of the whole planet. The Kaminoans hadn't been happy, true. But he hadn't cared.

It had been a long time since he had cared about anything.

He could feel the older Mandalorians eyes between his shoulder blades.

"You never worried about what they thought before."

"Oh I still _don't_, believe it. But I care that your trainees care."

Jango turned, kitbag still in his hand. Skitira watched him through narrow eyes, his gaze sombre and guarded. The other didn't wait for Jango to reply.

"Yeah, you never thought about them did you? You know, sometimes I have to cover for you, along with the others, and whatever I do you know what I hear?_ Jango said this, Jango said that, he showed us this that and the other_." Skitira snorted. "Those poor kids don't know that half of it, they just snap up what you throw them with a second thought."

"What are you trying to say, Skitira?" _And if it's what I think it is, you will wish I had never been born by the time I get through with you. _

"I'm saying... there's those kids that care about you, however stupid that might be. They'd make good –" he stopped short at the look on Jango's face.

"They'd make good _what_? Sons?" Jango felt him hand clench around one of his blasters and his face contort. Inside his chest four years of bleakness and the pain from shards of his soul were slowly compressing under a red mist into a rage as cold and pure as diamond. "You think I can just _replace_ him, just _go_ _out there_, and _pick another_? From a _production line_?"

"No, that's not –"

"Like _fuck_ it wasn't! Go one and _say_ it! _Say_ I should get myself another son, you fucking old _di'kut_! What the hell do you know?"

"I've had sons," Skitira said quietly.

"They _disowned_ you, you fucking bastard, don't you _dare_ tell me how to grieve for mine! You're the last man _alive_ I'd go to for parenting advice! If you're so concerned about those little shits, then go and adopt them yourself!"

With that he pushed past the stunned old soldier and headed for the _Slave I_, where for a while at least there would be no reminder from those soul-shards that however badly Skitira might have failed as a father, _he_ had failed a thousand times worse.

* * *

The gorge was quiet, but in the same way a storm front is quiet, a secret, promising way. Insects buzzed lazily in the hot morning air, crawling over the hot rocks, and fanning wings to the suns, sheltering under the robes of two Tuskens, one adult and one smaller, who lay prone one the crest of the canyon wall, their banthas sheltered below in a cave that kept off the suns. 

The smaller balanced a rifle as big as itself on its shoulders, the tip wavering slightly in the heat haze. The bigger one reached out to steady him, grunting something in his own language. His pupil squeaked something back and shifted the rifle into a more comfortable position.

A droning filled the air, growing until it filled the canyon valley with a roaring buzz that rattled the little ones teeth and made his heart pound in his ears. Adrenaline made his mouth dry out, and the suns were suddenly much too bright.

His mentor grunted an encouragement. ((Easy, uli'ah. You have three goes.))

((Yes sir.)) B'brk'ah shifted the rifle to face where he guessed their prey would go, trying to ignore the ache in his shoulder and the noise that was making his head throb.

((Get ready. They come–))

His foster fathers' words were drowned out in a roar of engines, the first of the Podracers of the Mos Espa circuit screaming around the corner. So fast! Too fast! B'brk'ah let off a wild shot, knocked rearward by the kickback before leaping up to see if he had hit.

((Get down!)) Ur'Uruuga pulled him flat as the last of the pods flew past. ((Only foolish hunters show themselves to prey!))

((Sorry)), he mumbled. ((Look at them fly! They are like Bonegnawers that have seen a sick womprat!))

((Outlander matters)), Ur'Uruuga shrugged. ((They are all mad, risking our pellets for no gain. But they make good targets!))

B'brk'ah grinned under his wraps. Shooting the outlander pods was the closest an adult Ghorfa had to recreation, a test of skill and that depended on the number of hits each time, and the number of kills. It was also good sniping practise.

The flies buzzed some more, as the sound of the pods faded almost to nothing, then steadily grew again. He lifted the rifle in readiness, his shoulder burning.

((Watch, that one is in the lead. Ready?))

((Yes.)) The uli'ah took careful aim at the approaching pod, gritting his teeth against the kickback he knew would hurt a lot. The pod drew to their position, and he pulled the trigger.

A crack sounded, and an explosion that made the valley shudder. He shrieked with excitement. ((I hit it!))

((Yes. It seems we have salvage.))

B'brk'ah wriggled, knowing they to wait for the race to be over before they dared to go down, but impatient to see his kill. Ur'Uruuga noticed his squirms, and gave a croaking Ghorfa laugh, before grasping his shoulder as he would another Ghorfa warrior.

((Be easy, uli'ah. You did well.))

B'brk'ah felt his heart swell so much the ache in his shoulder faded into insignificance. Ur'Uruuga was sparing with praise as benefited a Ghorfa adult. If he said B'brk'ah had done well, then he had done best.

* * *

It was the most beautiful sky he had ever seen, a collage of orange and red and palest blue, shot with gold. The suns were setting. 

Skidding down the side of the dune, he made it to the dip and looked around. Everywhere the light had turned the sand copper-pink and ochre, or reflected as if from diamonds. A call sounded somewhere in the distance and above him a pair of strange birds swooped and cried. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace.

So at peace that when he saw a black figure at the top of the dune he felt no alarm, but only curiosity. Until, that is, it started to wander towards him, the suns light casting its face in a warm bronze.

It came towards him, growing as it did so until it seemed to fill to whole of the desert, and he wondered at that until it drew face-to face with him, and smiled.

_Exactly_ face-to-face, right at his eye level. Instinct guided him to look down, and he saw bare knees, small boots, a white shirt, and dungarees', reaching up his hair was long and curly as it hadn't been since...

He looked back up, confused. The familiar face stared back at him, on top of strange tattered robes the colour of the sand, a pouch strapped across the chest, and rags wrapped around feet in place of shoes. The face was pale, deathly pale, the hair was longer and spiked in peaks and horns in some places but flattened in others, as if it had been compressed under a hood that had just been pulled off, but it was still a face he knew. _His_ face.

The boy smiled gently, not saying anything, and he knew it was his task to speak.

"You're..." he halted, too afraid to speak. "Are you...?"

The boy nodded, smiling.

"And... I'm dreaming." He looked around, feeling himself lose the shape of his happiest time and grow, because knowledge does that to you. The boy didn't show alarm as he had to look up at his new friend, who blinked and reached up to check his hair, now short, and looked down at his ordinary clothes. "Am I?"

The boy nodded but shrugged, as if to say: _Maybe. Who knows?_

He looked at the child's ashen white face and strange clothes, and felt himself ask "are you happy? Are you alright here?"

Another nod and a smile, but no shrug. He was happy.

"I won't remember this, will I?"

Nod, and now the boy looked sad. He tried to bring back the smile.

"Might as well make use of the time then," and he felt himself smile, a real smile, for the first time in... years. It felt so good he laughed, and the boy laughed as well, and reached up a pallid hand.

Jango let his son lead him through the sand and into the suns, as the sky deepened to frosty black above them.

* * *

It was early morning when B'brk'ah woke from some pleasant dream he couldn't remember, and he knew in an instant something was wrong. 

Dawn was almost but not quite broken, resulting in the weird half-light before sunrise that makes the world seem a dream. B'brk'ah got up and scrambled out of the tent, following his ears to where a stream of moans and cries were coming from.

Most of the clan were gathered in a circle of bodies around a bantha, who was lowing and keening in a high pitched lament. The uli'ah wriggled through the crowded beings to see the centre, and stopped in horror.

Ur'Uruuga was lying on his back, his eye tubes fixed on the face of his wailing mount and the mask of his mate, who was bending over him with desperate concern. One gloved hand was held tightly in hers, the other was gripping the stomach of his robes, where B'brk'ah could see the faint ruby liquid glistening through the rags.

But he had only been scouting! Why was he hurt?

B'brk'ah felt vaguely angry at this injustice, that other warriors had gone and raided without significant injury and his foster father was now lying holding his own guts in after nothing more than a quick scout around the territories. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Why did he have to be the one, him with his mate and uli'ah instead of someone like Urr'gHor?

The clan healer pushed aside the surrounding members, some of whom were whispering, some praying to the spirits that Ur'Uruuga might be spared. From their mutters B'brk'ah picked up much information, that his guardian and mentor had been on a reconnaissance sweep around the encampment when he had stumbled across an outlander band. They were all dead, but one of them had gotten off a lucky shot. The Ghorfa scout had only just made it back...

The healer barked an order, and two of the stronger warriors moved forward the carry B'brk'ah's foster father to their family tent. He walked behind them with his mother, dumbstruck with worry. She didn't have to tell him how bad this was. He _knew_.

Ur'Uruuga was going to die.

No-one couldn't heal a stomach wound, not even the best healer in the territories could do so much. All she could do was take away some of the pain and move Ur'Uruugas' bantha away from the camp, as banthas who lost their bonded partners often became wild and crazed.

The healer shooed him away from their home tent when he tried to enter and so he wandered around the campsite aimlessly, at a loss.

((B'brk'ah?))

He turned to see K'RruR'or, who looked as worried as he had ever seen her. ((Is it bad?))

He nodded, unable to form the words. She shifted and stroked her bantha pensively. His own gave him a nudge, and a concerned groan.

((Why does he have to go as well?)) B'brk'ah mumbled eventually.

His friend had no answer.

It took the rest of the day for Ur'Uruuga to die, as the Ghorfa clung on through the hottest part, when the heat and the sandflies made the tent unbearable, and turned his mutterings delirious. All throughout the stink of blood filled the enclosed space, until it seeped out to the two uli'ah huddled outside in their oversized robes, making their banthas whimper. The younglings made no sound.

Finally, as the suns set into a bloody mist on the gory horizon, the healer came out and fixed her mask on B'brk'ah.

((You should come.))

The uli'ah got up hastily and ran inside.

A quick look around dispelled any hope he might still have been clinging to. The Ghorfa was lying on his sleeping pallet, robes stuffed around the seeping hole in his gut. KReu'Ar knelt beside him, still not letting go of his hand. They both turned their heads towards B'brk'ah as he entered.

Ur'Uruuga growled weakly, the words lost in pain.

The uli'ah hurried over and knelt beside his mother, who was keening softly. He found himself unable to say a word.

Everyone was going away.

The older Ghorfa coughed harshly, breath mask turning it into a snarl like a dying dragons. Outside the camp was busy, interspersed by the clatter of cooking pots and the cries of uli'ah. Ur'Uruuga retched, a dark stain spreading

His mate moaned softly.

B'brk'ah started to sob, careful not to shed a tear. The scout broke off and groaned, doubling up with pain, then croaking quietly. The uli'ah leaned over to hear the words.

((Proud... so proud of you...)) Ur'Uruugas' voice was faint, weak as the wings of a sandfly. (Remember... so proud...))

The Ghorfas' head fell back onto the pad and his breathing shallowed. The hand covering his stomach rose, still gory and sticky with blood, seeking. B'brk'ah took it blindly in his own.

((So proud...) he mumbled.

His voice faded almost to nothing, and his breathing started to rattle. Once... twice...

B'brk'ah let go of the hand, feeling numb. Not long now.

Three times... Ur'Uruuga slumped down and lay still. The healer took one look at the huddled family, the prone male, and left the tent silently. There was nothing more to be done.

Through muffled ears B'brk'ah heard a ruckus, the screaming of an animal in pain so great it must either fight or die. The bellows rose to a peak, before a sharp retort sounded and the thud of a heavy body hitting the ground made the whole camp shake. It was over. Everything was over.

He felt KReu'Ar, keening despairingly, rock back and forth in her own lament, but for the uli'ah the dirge would always be silent.


	11. Chapter 11

The harsh etching of the stone pillars, black and bleak against the suns, spread shadow-fingers across the Wastes. The cluster of tents around them showed up like a stain on the amber rock. The Jungland was already being swept by high winds, scattering grains and whipping the robes of the trudging Ghorfa around their knees. The tribe rode in single file through a large ravine gouged long ago by mighty rivers, from when Tatooine still ran with water.

B'brk'ah shuddered and huddled deeper into his mothers robes, hoping his bantha had the sense to walk close to its bigger companion and shelter in the hanging fur. The clan was silent, not joyous as they usually were, and he knew why.

Ghorfa were a harsh and brutal people on a harsh and brutal world, they had neither the resources nor the time to care for liabilities. This was the thinking that led to bantha-lost Ghorfa being abandoned in the desert, to weakling calves being killed and malformed uli'ah babies being taken out to die far from the camps at birth. It helped keep them strong enough to survive where others did not.

He knew this and accepted it fully, but he because he did he also knew how much trouble he and his mother were in.

Without a warrior to support them, they had become a liability.

He didn't know exactly what was going to happen at the Needles, but he had a nasty feeling he could guess.

* * *

_**-(Bounty)-**__ Target: __**Harl Kilmer**_ (a picture showing a blue eyed man with brown hair)_ lieutenant for__ the Zygerrians__, brokered a deal with Lady Valerian to divert slaves to Tatooine. Reward: 60,000 Republic credits or equivalent in hard cash. _

Jango mulled it over. Sixty thousand was a lot, but he wasn't in this for the money. But a slaver... that would be an interesting bounty, and might provide what he really wanted, which was distraction.

Besides, he didn't like slavers.

On the other hand he had been gone from Kamino for far too long already. So maybe the bounty could keep... maybe for a few months or so. If it was still up at the end of that period he might take a trip to Ryloth.

* * *

((Have they decided yet?)) 

B'brk'ah looked up at his friend and shrugged, hiding the squirming feeling in his gut. His bantha was less easily fooled, and gave him and soft nudge, licking his gloved hand. He stroked its soft nose.

K'RruR'or plopped down beside him, hand in the fur of her own bantha cub. ((I wish they would hurry up,)) she mumbled.

B'brk'ah said noting, but intensified his stroking so his cub rumbled with pleasure. As soon as the tribe had arrived the leaders – the Urr'Ak, the healers and the storytellers – had gathered in the biggest tent to discuss his fate, and his mothers'. They had been in there since noon, and now campfires were being lit.

((What have they discussed?)) K'RruR'or asked in a low voice.

((I don't know,)) he muttered. ((They will not say.))

The uli'ah sat in silence, both knowing that it was looking unlikely they would be seeing each other again. The tent flap opened behind them, and their clan healer looked down at them both.

((Come inside,)) she said, not unkindly. He did so, and he felt his knees weaken with gratefulness as he heard K'RruR'or scramble up and hurry behind him.

The interior of the gather tent was dim and stuffy, and filled with strange Ghorfa. B'brk'ah saw his mother standing stiffly near the entrance, and ran to her, hearing his friend scuttle beside him. Their banthas lowed worriedly outside, echoing the wind.

Their clan Urr'Ak gestured for the two to step forward, and they did. ((KReu'Ar, you know you cannot stay with our clan. We have neither the resources nor the space to support you or your uli'ah.))

He felt his mother nod slowly, and felt sick.

((In the normal course of things you would have been disposed of as soon as possible.)) He fixed his eye tubes on B'brk'ah, and grunted. ((Maybe we would have let your uli'ah stay in another family, but _you_ would have been left in the desert. Maybe the spirits are smiling on you, because there is another choice.))

B'brk'ah blinked, confused and suddenly hopeful. What other choice was there?

((Your sister has vouched for you and her Urr'Ak has consented to let you stay in his clan, and your little one. They are a greater tribe and better able to provide for you both.))

K'RruR'or gave a half-whoop before remembering where she was and shutting up hastily. B'brk'ah just felt giddy with relief. They weren't going to die! He sensed his mother nod in assent, and was puzzled at her lack of joy. Shouldn't she be happy they had a second chance?

((For now you can stay among us,)) the bigger Ghorfa carried on in a low rumble, ((but as soon as they leave, so will you. You understand?))

He stopped, blinking.

((I understand,)) his mother replied harshly. ((I thank you.))

They said nothing further, but left for their home tent. B'brk'ah felt stunned.

_Leave_? Leave the clan? Leave K'RruR'or? It wasn't _possible_... it happened to new adults, marriage-bonded, not mothers or uli'ah. It just... didn't.

But it did and it was.

* * *

Time was up, and the _Slave I _shuddered and squealed, screeching again as it was almost pushed into the mountainside. _I hate the winds here._

Jango was sure she heard howling outside, and he involuntarily broke out in a cold sweat. It sounded like the shrieking of the damned in every Corellian hell, something he found himself wishing he hadn't thought of. He didn't need to be thinking about the afterlife right now.

The cavern widen, showing other ships in varying stages of disrepair and repair parked near the huge entrance. Jango glided the ship in, settling it between a massive freighter and a luxury yacht. He stood up and turned, clutching at his WESTAR pistols, down the walkway to the city. He had left off his armour and was dressed in a plain business tabard, as the ominous sight of Mandalorian armour in the upper city might cause some comment.

The interior of Kala'uun was chaotic. Twi'leks, Rodians, Humans, Trandoshans, and species he couldn't even name rubbed shoulders and browsed the various stalls. The higher he went, the more colourful and arrogant the beings, and the harder he had to shove to get through the crowds.

Most likely Harl Kilmer was still at the Zygerrians' headquarters, and that was where he was heading, to a dark opening at the side of the wall. Two beings- a brown-coloured Twi'lek and a hugely muscled Human- were apparently lounging outside uncaring.

Jango hunkered down in an alley out of sight and thought things over. He already had a map of the headquarters, but a bit of first-hand experience would be useful, and he _might_ get close enough to Kilmer to just shoot the scum right then and there without any fuss. A recce couldn't hurt.

"Spare us some change, master?" a cracked voice said behind him.

"Piss off," he muttered without bothering to look around. Of course that would mean leaving behind his armour...

"_Please_, master. Just the smallest of coins?"

He turned, not bothering to hide his irritation from the small, raggedy being of uncertain species crouching by the wall. "Which part of '_piss off_' don't you understand?"

It scampered away, but not without a backward glance filled with hatred. He ignored it and shoved his bundle of armour in a recess in the wall, piling garbage over it until it until it was completely covered. Then he stepped out.

The human at the door glared at him. "Wada yah want?"

"Business." He handed over a faked ID chip, courtesy of ten minutes of a slicer's time on Nar Kreeta. And the nice thing was, ever since what happened to Grillip, they didn't even charge him anymore.

The human grunted, handing back the chip. "It'd better be good."

"Oh, it is." Jango stepped through the door to the richly decorated room with representatives of most species present, talking quietly together or waiting silently against the walls. The door closed behind him.

About a minute afterwards a small, raggedy being of uncertain species scampered from a nearby alley outside and started to whisper to the guards.

* * *

The sandstorms were over, and for once B'brk'ah wasn't pleased about it. He hugged his bantha, trying to stop the fluttery feeling in his gut as his mother packed up their tent ready to leave. 

K'RruR'or looked as miserable as he felt. ((I can't believe you are going.))

((Neither can I,)) he mumbled. It had happened so fast, papa dieing and them being traded off – like old bantha hides! Now they were going to a whole different tribe and he wasn't going to see his best friend for a whole year. They were huddled together with their cubs, unable to believe they were going to be parted.

KReu'Ar called for him, telling him it was time to leave. B'brk'ah kicked the sand around his feet.

((Guess I have to go now,)) he muttered into his mask, unsure what else to say. He hadn't had to say goodbye before. ((I thought you should have this...))

He drew out his little ring of metal; the spoils from his first ever kill, before pressing it into her gloved hand. She gave a small sniff, before extracting out something of her own.

((It is only fair you have this, then,)) she said quietly.

The rod shone faintly in the dawn suns, its glow outshined by their light. B'brk'ah took it gently, before he was pulled into a hug that made him blush to his ear tips. Ghorfa didn't hug, didn't even make bodily contact unless absolutely necessary, but after the initial shock this felt... right.

He backed out and snuffled, feeling his chest hurt. K'RruR'or sobbed dryly. ((You are my best friend ever, and I will not forget!))

((You are mine, and when I am grown up I will come back to the clan and no one will make me leave!)) KReu'Ar called again, more urgently, and he started to run before her, calling back. ((Goodbye!))

His last sight of his clan was of his best friend, moaning bantha cub at her side, waving her miniature gaffi stick in the air in a Ghorfa farewell.

* * *

Jango had scouted as far as he could go, there was no more to be done. No sign of Kilmer, no sign of a back entrance he could put to some use. But no sign of any other hunters after the bounty either, which was good. 

He was making for the exit when a Chagrian guard stopped him. "Boss Alask'olan wants to see you."

Jango experienced what in a Jedi would have constituted a Force Premonition; commonly called among the ordinary people of the galaxy a Bad Feeling "Why?"

"He's the boss. _You_ ask him."

Jango scowled, but followed the guard to a door of dark wood. Blasted slaver had probably heard about his wanderings and wanted to make a point at the expense of an offworlder businessman. Hopefully.

The Chagrian walked straight through the room, towards another door which he knocked on, and waited for a reply.

"Enter." The voice was rich and dark.

Wary as a sand panther, Jango did so.

This room was even more richly decorated than the last, with hangings on the walls and small expensive ornament tucked in small alcoves. A desk made of a strange purplish wood sat at the far end, behind which a corpulent Blue Twi'lek sat. Two smaller Twi'leks, red ones, were seated on rugs at either side of the desk, and Jango swallowed down an angry curse when he saw the collars. _Easy, easy. Remember who you're supposed to be. _

Alask'olan regarded Jango with eyes were as cold as stone, and an expression, such as it was under the fat, just as hard. "Be seated, if you please. I have heard you are interested in selling to me."

That was the cover story, such as it was. Jango always had one or two ready, as well as a selection of personas to distract from his true purpose.

He opted for gruff but honest mercenary who had got lucky. "Yeah, I got a few from the last raid. This was the nearest place to deal."

"Of the same or transpecies?"

"Both. Kiffar, human and one Zeltron, a crew of seven"

"Your price?"

_I got lucky; I don't know the proper prices. _"Twenty thousand each."

The Rutians' forehead wrinkled briefly, before smoothing into an expression of cheerfulness that didn't quite hide the look of greed on his face. "My friend, I think we can deal on that! Would you be coming across any _other_ merchandise in your travels?"

Jango kept his face carefully blank. "Might do."

"We would be willing to offer a dividend to loyal suppliers, perhaps as high as... ten percent."

_Pathetic_. Two thousand credits was a pittance for slaves that could sell for as much as fifty thousand each. The bloated being was starting to remind Jango of the Hutts, something he did not welcome.

"Sounds good," he lied. "I'll be sure to remember."

The Twi'lek actually stood up and shook his hand, looking jovial. "My friend, I can foresee a long and successful partnership! Such conclusions deserve celebration!" One of the Lethan slaves rose and went out a side door.

Oh well. He had hoped to get away quickly, but if he could persuade the overweight crook to give him a tour, then chances were he might meet his quarry... briefly.

The Lethan came back in bearing a silver tray with two crystal goblets, and a clear pitcher of red liquid. Alask'olan poured a little into each and gaze him a glass.

Jango flicked his gaze downwards at the drink, instincts starting to give off danger signals again. He made a habit of not accepting strange drinks, Zam and her blasted Irongut aside.

_And look how_ that_ turned out. _

Alask'olan was watching him carefully, all joviality gone.

"Not thirsty?" he asked quietly.

The _click_ of the door behind him made Jango spin and shoot without thinking, but by then it was already far too late.

Blue light wiped out his vision, and darkness followed at its heels.

* * *

((Hey outlander, what you doing_ here_?)) 

Glancing up from his work beside the bivouacs' campfire, B'brk'ah glared at the person in front of him and scowled. The _uli'ah,_ Grk'cho'tha, was barely older than him, the son of his mothers' sister. He looked back down again, trying to ignore him.

A rough hand hauled him up, and he stared into the eye tubes of his cousin. ((I asked you a question, outlander. What you doing here with the _real_ Ghorfa?))

Starting to feel annoyed, B'brk'ah gave Grk'cho'tha his best glare, trying to control his temper. He could beat the _uli'ah_ without a second thought, but he had a feeling this wouldn't go down well with his new tribe. He settled for pulling himself free and trying to express his contempt through stance alone.

Grk'cho'tha sneered. ((Deaf and dumb, are you? Or just stupid?))

Fine. He wouldn't give him a second chance. ((I am glad I am not as stupid as you))

That got Grk'cho'tha mad. ((You're a cheeky little outlander to say that. You'd better watch it in case I try to teach you some manners.))

((You can try.))

((Oooo, the little outlander has a big roar,)) he smirked. ((I'm scared!))

B'brk'ah was starting to get fed up. ((Go away.))

Grk'cho'tha snorted. ((Are you going to make me?))

((If I have to.))

He tried to grab B'brk'ah again, but got a swift kick in the groin. When he staggered upright, with a murderous air B'brk'ah gave him a swift blow to the underside of his chin, felling him again.

He knelt down beside the fallen uli'ah.

((Next time I will hit harder)), he said matter-of-factly, ((and in many more places.))

Calling for his bantha, B'brk'ah went to play on the outskirts. It was quieter there.

* * *

The room was five foot by five foot, dark, smelly, and cramped. One wall was open bars, looking out onto a corridor showing more cells, more bars. The walls were pale stone, and sweated moisture like eopie skin. In the corner there was a bucket, with a scuff mark near the rim. A jug of water had been put in, but no food had been offered. Probably no point. Across the ceiling was a spider-web of cracks. The bars were rusted and caked with dirt around the bottom, but strong. 

He knew this. He had had plenty of time to test them, after all.

The only light available was from the glowstrip outside, which cast sickly shadows into the tiny rooms. Voices – screams, pleas, cries for help, sobs, prayers – echoed down from those rooms. Whenever a guard went past, pale hands would reach out and clutch at their clothing, the voices would reach a desperate pitch. He had been in places like this before, and he knew better than to copy them, because it was always no avail – each time they passed by in silence.

It was impossible to tell the time in this sunless place, but he guessed at two days... maybe three. No-one had come to see him, and he wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Maybe they had just forgotten about him altogether. Not that he was complaining.

He reviewed the possibilities. One: they were going to kill him. Before he would have said this was most likely, but he wasn't so sure. They wouldn't waste water on someone they wanted dead.

Two: they were going to kill him in a sufficiently interesting way that amused them. More probable, but also unlikely. They were slavers, not Hutts.

Three: they had mistaken him for someone else and would let him go.

Yeah. Right.

That only left options four and five, neither of which he liked the idea of very much.

Four: they were keeping him for a bounty. Maybe the Hutts had put up another one after the younger Gardullas' death? It was feasible, but he would have expected a dead bounty, although the Hutts had a history of recreational torture to people they disliked.

Or five; and this one was starting to worry him: selling on? They were slavers, after all. It was their job. He was fresh meat. Bounty hunters weren't much danger armed with a slop bucket.

So Hutts or slavery. He had escaped both, but whereas it had only taken a few hours with Gardulla, it had taken considerably longer from the spice freighter...

Footsteps sounded, and he stood. Alask'olan, flanked by two Twi'lek bodyguards, appeared behind the bars looking smug, but also careful to keep out of reach as the door slid back. The grip the guards had on their blasters – well kept blasters, Jango noted distantly – forestalled any attempt at a breakout. One was carrying a strip of metal.

Alask'olan said nothing as the encumbered guard threw down the strip and stepped back, the bars sliding back into place behind him. Only when the door was shut did he speak.

"You will be fed when you put it on."

And then he left.

Jango waited until the ring of their footsteps had died away before picking up the strip and turning it over and over in his hands, thinking. Looked like it was option five then.

Shit.

Even bigger shit as the blasted Twi'lek had put him in a very bad position. On the one hand if he carried on without food, he would soon be too weak to attempt a breakout whatever happened. On the other hand if he put that damn thing on, he wouldn't be able to break out anyway without something dire – his neck exploding for instance – happening.

So he could either ignore it, and die, or wear it, and die.

Put like that...

Jango picked up the collar and hurled it into the corner, before sitting back down against the wall and closing his eyes to sleep.

And to get along with starving to death, of course.

* * *

It was cooler than usual, just before sunset. The desert sky had turned dark blue, ribboned with red and burnt orange. The suns just touched the horizon, clinging on as if unwilling to abandon Tatooine to the darkness. 

B'brk'ah sat with his bantha at the edge of the camp, watching the story dances from a distance. A massif sat by his feet – a youngster, all legs, and jaw, but big enough. He spent most of his time either with his bantha or with the clan massifs, and it had taken a liking to him

Mentally he had named it _Loca_, the Huttese for _crazy_. He figured anything that like his company here had to be a little mad.

Normally he loved this part of the day, when everyone gathered around the campfires and listened to the clan songs, celebrated their continued existence despite the suns and the predators and the outlanders.

But to go among the campfires was to invite whisperings and mutters, the taunts of Grk'cho'tha and his cronies. He didn't mind, but lately they had taken to tormenting his bantha, who would howl and charge them and earn a cuff from one of the adults for her pains. No-one wanted either of them down below.

Well, fine. He didn't want to be down there either.

He stroked his bantha pensively, who regarded his companion with mournful eyes. He had never felt an outsider before, but here he was. He was Ghorfa in every way, but to them he was outlander, and always would be.

They were all fools; he thought venomously, nothing but a pack of fools.

He heard a sound behind him and turned his head as Loca did, although unlike the massif he didn't growl. His mother was walking softly between the tents. She sighed as she drew near.

((You should not wander this far from the fires at night.))

((I would not be any safer with them,)) he replied bitterly. His mother had accepted their low status with quiet patience, something that made him both proud and mad. She was so much stronger than them, but she shouldn't _have_ to be. ((They would not protect me from as much as a scurrier.))

((Nevertheless the fires would drive away any predators interested in a young uli'ah.)) Despite her words she sat down beside him, making no protest as his bantha snuffled her wrap and rumbled gently.

((I don't want to go near them. I hate them.))

((You cannot hate your tribe,)) she said sharply. ((It is not our way.))

((They are _not_ our tribe, so I can hate them. They are all outlanders in Ghorfa wraps.))

She was silent a moment. ((My son, before you were a Ghorfa you were an outlander. They are strange people, foolish often but very powerful, very terrible. Some say they can travel even further than the stars.))

((Then these are not outlander. They are just as stupid, but they are slime. I hate even looking at them; I cannot even imagine staying like this forever!))

She paused again, before saying, ((Something you will learn as you grow, my son, is that in the land under the suns there are some things that cannot be changed. A bantha wanders from its herd; that bantha dies. An eopie strays too close to a dragon; that eopie is eaten. A Ghorfa mother and uli'ah leave their tribe; they starve or perish from thirst in the desert. Those are the laws that cannot be broken.))

B'brk'ah said nothing, because he knew she was right. But he didn't like it.

((I still hate them,)) he muttered sullenly.


	12. Chapter 12

At first he had exercised, because there was nothing else to do. Sit-ups, press-ups, push-ups, stretches, more to relieve the boredom than because he would be thinking he might need to be fit when he escaped. _If_ he escaped.

But then the lack of nutrition had started to tell. His vision had blacked out, he had grown dizzy, and eventually he had taken the hint and stopped, lying down with his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.

No food. No water either, not since the jug had run out yesterday. Yes the walls were damp, but only relative to, say, a desert. Maybe dehydration was a mercy, since it was much quicker. But starvation hurt less. He had stopped being hungry days ago, but the thirst wouldn't go away.

He knew all the tricks to stave off the craving for water – counting games, word games, riddle games. Simple games. They took his mind off the pain, helped keep him from crawling over to that corner and picking up the collar.

_Why is six afraid of seven? _

_Because seven eight nine. _

Ha. Ha.

Death didn't particularly scare him. Why would it? Most of the people he _knew_ were dead. Most of his family. His parents, his sister, his son. Jaster Mereel. Myles. Silas. The rest of the Mandalorians. Even Rozetta. All gone. Just him left.

_What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?_

_A towel. _

Not one of his better ones, admittedly. Not that it mattered. No-one else to hear them. No-one else, period.

Probably better that way.

* * *

Gathering hubba gourds. He hated gathering hubba gourds. It was backbreaking, and boring, and risky if you strayed to far from the campsite and the safety of the tents. But of course, they were expendable, his mother, and he, which was why they were part of the taskforce doing it. 

He was gathering as far away as he could get from that 'safety' without being in danger, but leaving his bantha and Loca behind just in case he miscalculated. They couldn't have helped him anyway. KReu'Ar hadn't been very happy about letting him go alone, but the gathering was over earlier that way, so she hadn't really had much choice.

He was digging a hubba at the canyon mouth when a set of shadows fell across the sand in front of him. Wary, he looked up.

Grk'cho'tha sneered down at him, flanked by three friends. They were carrying their gaffis.

((Not so big now, outlander.))

He tensed. Four against one was not good odds, but he didn't care anymore. This had been brewing for a while.

The other didn't seem to notice his stiffness. ((You need teaching about Ghorfa, outlander. We thought it should be us.))

((You can try,)) he said without thinking. He edged his gaffi down and across, ready to block and strike.

The four spread out to flank him. ((We can.))

It was a short, ugly little fight, and its outcome was fairly predictable. It was still four against two, and most of them were bigger than he was. The outcome left him laying the sand, gasping and trying to shield his head as they pounded away.

An angry bellow followed by cries and scuffing sounds made him look up, and he smiled. His bantha had arrived, and the four bullies were running for the tents as fast as they could go. He got up, feeling as though the whole of the tribes' herd had run over him, and looked down at his dusty clothes, then back up at his bantha, who was nudging him and lowing worriedly. None of the adults had come over to see what the fuss had been about.

Fine. _Fine_. If they wanted it like that, they could gather their own gourds. He was sick of them, and their uli'ah. He was sick of them all.

He turned and marched out into the desert.

* * *

He knew what happened when you died of dehydration. First you got dizzy – in his case dizzier. You felt tired. You got headaches, a dry mouth. Then maybe seizures, nausea, lethargy, tingling in your limbs, dimming vision, dry skin. And death of course. 

Well he felt tired, and his head hurt and his mouth really felt dry. Seizures next. Whoopee.

_If you have it, you want to share it, but if you share it, you don't have it. What is it?_

_A secret. _

Hey, everyone. He was going to die! Big secret.

He had always kept secrets. Funny that. Always kept his secrets, his promises, his Code. Kept his honour intact. And he was still dieing. Made you wonder why you bothered, really.

He wasn't sure anymore.

_What is often returned but never borrowed?_

_Thanks. _

He never said thank you to Zam. Perhaps he should. Maybe he hadn't needed to.

He hoped she knew.

* * *

The suns were high up, almost at their noon position in the sky, and B'brk'ah was starting to regret his foolishness. He had no water, no food, no-one to help him except his bantha and himself. If he ever survived this he might well die of shame anyway, for acting with such un-Ghorfa like stupidity. 

They were in the middle of the Wastes now, a vast rocky expanse that stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see, broken by canyons that splintered the stone like cracks in dried mud. He headed towards one of those canyons now, mindful that he could probably be seen for miles, by anyone... or any_thing_.

He wasn't sure which one frightened him more. _Anyone_ would be an outlander, most likely, who would probably shoot him. But _anything_ might be something like a Krayt Dragon, which would eat him up without a second thought. Shot or eaten, losers' choice. He didn't know which was worse.

B'brk'ah decided he didn't want to find out, and sped up as the canyon neared.

But the losers' choice was made for him, as he heard through mists of gathering fear the hunting call of an Anooba pack. For the first time he started to feel terrified, but he remembered himself because he had to be–

* * *

– brave, it was the only way. He was Mandalorian, he could be nothing else. 

Mandalorian. Mandalorians weren't supposed to die like this, not locked away under a mountain. They lead lives as brief and brilliant as Coruscant Shadowmoths, although a lot more violent. But then again, old soldiers never died, did they? They just faded away.

He was fading fast.

_The man who invented it doesn't want it,  
the man who bought it doesn't need it,  
the man who needs it doesn't know it._

_A coffin. _

Maybe a little macabre. But then, when you are dieing, you can't really be accused of inappropriate macabre.

Not for long, anyway.

He felt it was an inconvenient time for black humour to start to develop, not to mention an inconvenient place, right where no-one could appreciate it. But then he was always alone, wasn't he?

_I never was, am always to be,  
No one ever saw me, nor ever will,  
And yet I am the confidence of all  
to live and breathe in this terrestrial ball.  
What am I?_

_Tomorrow. _

No more tomorrows. Not anymore. It was odd, but he always thought, somehow, when it happened, that he would die in battle. Strange, that. He was a bounty hunter, not a–

* * *

–warrior, but right here, right now, the Anoobas didn't care. If they caught his scent, he was dead. 

He started to run for the canyon, as fast as he ever had, knowing that if he could find something to climb up on, or down to – a ledge, a high cave, even a spur of rock or a hole – then he could hide, or maybe beat them off.

His bantha lowed, tail swishing the sand away as it galloped after him. He ran helter-skelter to the canyon mouth, hearing the calls of the anoobas'. He reached the mouth and looked around wildly, spotting a projection just in time. He wasn't sure it was out of their reach, but there was nowhere else to run to.

He clambered up just as another bay sounded, helping his bantha scramble after him. Treading carefully, they slipped down the rocky ledge, and he heard the Anoobas howl and knew that they were –

* * *

–coming for him. He could hear footsteps again, but in his state it was hard to tell whether it was a single person or a whole troop of them. 

By now the nausea and the lethargy were kicking in, although not the seizures thank the stars. It wouldn't do to be trembling and shaking when they found him, they might get the wrong idea.

_At night they come without being fetched,  
And day by day they are lost without being stolen.  
What are they?_

_Stars._

Wish upon a star.

Stupid thing to do, wishing. Especially upon stars. They were just big balls of gas and fire; they didn't care what you asked for. Still, he missed them just a little. He would have liked to have seen them again.

No point in wishing though. Wishes didn't get answered.

_Wishes are for fishes, little fishes that swim in the sea. _

So he had told Boba, in a rare moment of light-heartedness.

_Don't wish. You're my big fish!_

The he would toss Boba in the air and catch him, tickling his feet until he giggled.

_Swim away big fish!_

He lay back, unable to keep his head more than a minute. A small part was yelling at him to keep fighting, to get and up and try to escape – to do _something_ – but the rest was really very tired. It had been a long day, and he wanted to sleep. Besides, there was someone waiting for him, someone who had waited too long.

He smiled.

_Don't worry, son. I'm almost–_

* * *

–_there_, right there at the lip of the canyon, a big female with an even bigger mate. He had seen them scavenge around the Podracing track with Ur'Uruuga, but then they had been lying in the shade of the gorge walls, waiting for an easy meal. Seeing them up and hunting – hunting for _him_ – was pretty scary. 

His bantha whimpered slightly, sensing his fright and keeping so close he was almost afraid he was going to be pushed off the ledge by accident. It was only twelve feet or so above the ground, he wasn't sure if they could jump that high. Even if they could, he still had his gaffi, so maybe that would help. Hopefully.

The pack trotted down the ravine, ten in all, and stopped below the ledge. Their yellow eyes watched him rapaciously. An uli'ah and a bantha cub would be good eating for this time in the season, they wouldn't give up lightly.

He tried to frighten them away, shouting ((I'll hit you! I will!))

As if they would care. He was just a small uli'ah who should be back at the campsite gathering hubba gourds, not waiting to kick away a hungry Anooba pack. But this was Tatooine, and life here was like that. You didn't get second chances from the desert.

The lead female snarled hungrily and leapt, snapping at his wrapped feet. He screamed and flailed with his little gaffi, smacking her on the jaw by sheer luck and sending her to land on the ground with a–

* * *

– sound the echoed down the corridor, the sound of a set of keys, jingling. They had old-fashioned keys here; he had seen one of the guards carrying a set. Maybe someone was going to be sold. 

It wouldn't be him, would it? He hadn't put that damn collar on... they would want him to, because... because...

It was so hard to think, now, but he felt something in his gut stir with unease. He got the feeling he had missed something.

_To unravel me, you need a key.  
Not a key that was made by locksmith's hands,  
But a key that only I will understand.  
What am I?_

_A cipher. _

Puzzles within puzzles.

Then his eyes flew open, and he _knew_.

He_ had _missed something, and he knew that he was going to pay for it, because the footsteps were drawing nearer and he was almost too tired to move, too tired to fight.

It had been a trick.

_Whatever he had chosen_, they had always meant to sell him. If he had put the collar on, so much the better, but when he had left it off... it just meant they had to–

* * *

–wait a while, wait until he was too weak with thirst to drive them away, and then they would _get_ him. The pack settled down under his ledge, never taking their gaze from him. 

It would happen, he knew. There had been stories around the campfires – not the storyteller stories, the official ones, but the ones told by the scouts and the sentries and even the uli'ah. He had heard these tales even after his mother and shooed him off to bed, saying that if he stayed up he would have nightmares.

He never had, but he could still remember K'RruR'ors' story about the Ghorfa who had disobeyed and gone to hunt when he was supposed to be standing sentry duty, and become separated from his tribe. He had come across a hungry Anooba pack while trying to find them, and they had chased him across the desert until his legs had been worn away and they had eaten him from the knees up. A typical K'RruR'or story, but it made him smile now, because he missed her, and all his real tribe, and he didn't want to die without saying goodbye to her.

But this was Tatooine, and it didn't care. It just killed you. Not because it wanted to, but by just existing. By being the way it was.

The Anooba panted in the midday heat and let their tongues loll out as they stared up at him, watchful. Maybe he would even drop from thirst or starvation; maybe just the heatstroke would do it.

His bantha grumbled and chewed his sleeve gently, and he smiled. No, his bantha would not let that happen. Maybe he would even outlast them. Stranger things had happened.

A bellow cut through the watchful silence, and the Anoobas' jumped up. There was something at the canyon mouth where they had entered, silhouetted black against the cobalt sky, a–

* * *

–figure, making the bars creak as they were leaned against. The other prisoners set up a clamour, but he didn't waste his breath, standing through sheer force of will and facing his visitor on his own terms. 

But the light was turning his vision black again, and his throat was parched as sand so as they stepped forward he couldn't see their face or tell them where to get off. All he could do was keep a good grip on the wall and wait for them so act, or enter.

But they didn't, only saying in a voice filled with irony, "You know, I have the strangest feeling we've been here before."

That voice, it sounded like... but no...

The bars squealed as they were drawn back, and as she moved forward the light fell across her face, highlighting broad cheekbones and a wry smile.

No, it couldn't be. He had started to hallucinate, it–

* * *

–couldn't be. It was _impossible_. 

But he wasn't, it wasn't, she was actually _there_. KReu'Ar, his mother, and he had never been happier to see her in his whole life. Loca stalked beside her, ugly jaws gaping and showing impressive teeth.

The Ghorfa female bellowed her war cry again atop her bantha, before firing directly at the Anooba pack. One dropped, kicking and leaking precious fluids, while the others jumped to their feet and snarled at the oncoming threat.

KReu'Ar was fearless in the face of their fangs, firing again and hitting the lead female square through the throat. The rest scattered and fled up the valley, bravado broken by the slug, until all that was left of them was a sliver of their howls. Loca howled after them mockingly, before retreating back to the banthas' side.

KReu'Ar sent one last contemptuous slug after them, before kicking her bantha towards her sons' ledge and–

* * *

–reaching towards him, steadying him as the dehydration took its final toll and he could no longer stand. It was impossible, but so very real, and if this was a dream he didn't want it to end. 

"Zam?" he tried to say, but it came out as a croak.

"Good thing I don't have a long memory," she smiled, as she helped him to sit and get his breath back. Of course, in Gardullas' palace he had left her in a cell much like this, although it had been for her own protection. But she had gotten her revenge by calling for the guards, so fairs fair.

_Lucky she though so to, eh?_

"I can only say this once, while you're too weak to get even, but: Jango Fett, you are a bloody fool sometimes."

He laughed weakly, saying, "I'm not arguing."

Or trying to, since it came out as "Ire ock arkukink."

Her smile got wider, and she drew out a flask and held it up. Without even asking what was in it, he grabbed it two movements – he missed the first time, much to her amusement. Water had never tasted so–

* * *

–sweet, not even on the hottest day of Tatooines summer season. B'brk'ah drank greedily, not stopping to hide his face, something that would have earned banishment at the very least from _either_ of his clans. Luckily his mother turned her head to prevent herself seeing him. 

His bantha nudged against hers, seeking shade in the hanging fur, and bawling until he clambered down and gave it the rest of the water skin. His mother watched with thankful tolerance, before hauling him back up and steering both bantha back toward the mouth, and the campsite far away. Loca bounded beside them, tongue lolling out in happiness.

((You have been very foolish, you know.))

((I know,)) he said quietly, and suddenly it hit him just how close he had come to dieing, torn apart by scavengers. He shuddered, not minding when she hugged him and held him close.

((I hope you have learnt your lesson.))

((I have.)) He definitely had. He would never stray away again, not ever, no matter how bad his cousin got. At least Grk'cho'tha could only beat him.

((Why in suns did you do it? You could have been killed; you almost _were_!))

He swallowed nervously, and told her about the fight, still feeling a pit of shame that they had beaten him so badly. What must they think of him, or of Ur'Uruuga who had trained him, that they had flattened him like that?

KReu'Ar was very quiet once he had finished, not speaking until they were out of the canyon altogether and setting off across the Wastes. ((I had not thought they would go so far.))

((Please do not try and sort it out,)) her son begged. She turned her mask down to him, and he stared up through pleading eye tubes. ((I will keep my bantha with me; she will help me deal with them.))

KReu'Ar was silent even longer, as her bantha kicked stones across the flats and tramped under the two suns. B'brk'ah's own little cub was running to keep up, jumping every other step to keep in time with the bigger one.

((We have very little choice,)) she said finally, and he knew she spoke the truth. The tribe would never stand up for an outsider, even if they would have for a member of their own tribe.

But they wouldn't have. They were Ghorfa, and quite rightly took the view that if you couldn't stand the ragging of the few peers, then you would stand no chance in the desert of their unforgiving home planet.

((But,)) she added, ((I will ask Oh'Sorro'ger to teach you more of your gaffi. He is the son of my mother's elder sister, and we grew up together. He will do so if I ask.))

B'brk'ah nodded, happy that she was satisfied. Privately he felt it might take more than a few weapons' training lessons.

* * *

Jango would never remember much of the journey back to the _Slave I_. Like most things after the ambush in Alask'olan's office it blurred in his mind, a smear of activity with a few events jumping out from haze like shapes in a nightmare. 

Like the sight of a Twi'lek sentry at the entrance of the corridor, one lekku shot off and a hole burnt in his chest. He had had to hop over the corpse to get out, and he had kicked the severed lekku by accident. It had twitched.

Like the surprise attack from a group of mixed human and Devaronian thugs, wielding heavy vibroaxes and snub blasters. Zam had taken care of them in short order, but she had had to stop supporting him while doing so, and he had fallen. The impact against the wall had made his vision burst in starbursts of purple and green.

Afterwards it was all confusion, screams, shouts and the sounds of blasterfire. Afterwards she would tell him she had let out all the prisoners when she had gone down to the cells, who had taken advantage of their new freedom by cheerfully slaughtering all the guards they could find. He could remember asking if she had known about the price on Kilmer's head, before being told curtly that it had been collected. No prizes for guessing who by.

He could vaguely remember the sound of speeder engines, the feeling of floating, and for some reason a strong smell of strange oils before he had finally given up on consciousness.

When he finally made it back – slowly – he was lying on his back, on a comfortable bunk under clean sheets, and someone had stuck a hydration drip in his arm. He had a feeling he should probably speak, but then again he was in the no hurry. He had no objections to comfortable bunks and clean sheet, or for that matter the hydration drip.

It was vibrating though. Jango was sure bunks shouldn't vibrate. They were noted for their lack of movement.

Damn the bunk. He couldn't be bothered with this right now. He closed his eyes again, and drifted back into peaceful rest.

When he woke up the second time the bunk was still vibrating and someone was pulling out the drip. He opened bleary eyes to see Zam leaning over him and pulling the drip back over his head. She smiled when she noticed he was awake.

"Good morning to you. Feeling better?"

Clawdite playing nurse? Vibrating bunks? He sat up.

Well, tried to. Acquiring a few more litres of fluid didn't help his energy levels by much, just enough for a rather embarrassing flop. He heard Zam choke back a small snigger before she left, and swore it would paid back just as soon as he could persuade his arms and legs to obey him.

But the attempt let him see that he was in his own cabin aboard the _Slave I_. Presumably Zam had gotten him here and was now flying his ship – oh damn, she was flying his damn ship. Did she even know how?

Of course you couldn't crash in space, but he had a feeling she might find a way...

Zam interrupted his sudden alarm with a clear plastic carafe of water from the supply hold. He was too weak to hold onto it, so had to give in while she helped him like a baby with a bottle.

"If you _ever_ mention that again," he grated after he had finished, "I will put a bounty on your head and collect it myself."

"That's gratitude for you," she sniffed, unruffled.

Jango's stomach told them both that he hadn't eaten for a very long time. He glared at Zam, daring her to mention _that_ as well. She very wisely didn't.

"I think you can handle a protein shake," she said gravely. He did notice she covered her mouth with her hand as she turned away, though.

Jango lay back and thought things over. Safe and free. He wouldn't be taken either of those for granted anytime soon. But he couldn't help but sigh as he closed his eyes and thought of a barely-remembered sky, the most beautiful he had ever seen, a collage of orange and red and palest blue, shot with gold as the suns set behind the dunes.

_Sorry, son. You'll have to wait a little longer. _


	13. Chapter 13

B'brk'ah stood in front of the Tusken adult, gaffi held carefully crosswise. The other was long and lanky, old by the standards of a society where reaching forty stand years was rare. He feinted, blocked by a whip-fast flicker from his pupil. The two circled each other, wary.

The lessons were going well.

KReu'Ar regarded him with fondness rare in a Tusken Raider, the massif youngster who had taken such a liking to them lying panting at her side. It was dusk, Tatoo II sitting on the horizon and regarding the campsite in its rare peacefulness with almost a benevolent eye.

Nearly two birth cycles since he had first arrived as a lost little outlander, and she couldn't believe how much he had grown, both in size and as a Ghorfa. She had been truly surprised at how well he had done, despite Hett's leadership all those birth cycles ago, and the progress of his son.

Now it was _hers_ who progressed. Her son.

_My son? _She puzzled over this thought as B'brk'ah lashed out and tore a thin strip from his teachers' robe, receiving a wallop to his backside as an answer. Was he her son, truly? He was no blood relation; for he called her _mama_ she knew different. She wasn't his mother, not really...

Wasn't she?

_Yes, I am. _

He was her son, and she loved him. That was all there really was, all that mattered. She thought of him as her own, so really his species and outlander past didn't matter to any being that could think. The tribe they were in now were... mistaken. He was no outlander. _He was her son. _

The two broke off and B'brk'ah bowed to his teacher, who returned the gesture with a pleased grunt at his improvement. Over a year of this training had turned her son into a deadly fighter; by the time he reached his adult ceremonies he would be a master.

She smiled under her mask and called that supper was ready.

* * *

At that same moment, Zam was packing her bags. 

Things had been... tricky, since the Zygerrians. She and Jango had parted ways soon afterwards; as soon as he was able to fly the _Slave_ by himself he had insisted on dropping her off on Lok and flying home alone. Uncharacteristically, he had not demanded a share of the bounty, although in all fairness he didn't really have any claim to it.

All had been quiet, but then she had taken a bounty on Coruscant and he had been there. If Zam had not know better (and she _did_, she told herself vehemently), she would have suspected he had been waiting for her. Which was _ridiculous_...

Ridiculous or not, he had split the bounty 50/50 and offered to give her a free ride offplanet afterwards. And then she had asked – uncertainly – that she would like to visit Kamino, see how the clones were developing... check he was doing alright, ha ha...

And he had said yes.

She had been so surprised that she had forgotten to say thank you.

The visit had gone ok, but now things had gotten... well, difficult. And awkward. Jango had alternated between avoiding her for days on end – which was annoying – and trying to act as a normal host – which was alarming. And always there had been a series of complicated silences, with both of them staying very carefully quiet around the other.

Zam was unsubtle, but she was not stupid; she could guess what was going on, and why it would be better for them both if she simply packed her bags and asked for a lift to the nearest hunter-friendly planet.

She was a_ bounty_ _hunter_, they both were. And that was the problem. Bounty hunters – especially ones on their level – lived on a knife-edge of deceit and danger; it was testimony to their respective skills that either had managed to survive so long. Zam knew that this would not last forever, and she was intelligent enough to realise that of the two of them, _she_ was the one most likely to catch someone's blaster bolt for them one day. She just wasn't on his level. She didn't mind, of course. There weren't many that _were_.

Jango had already lost people he cared about – he had told enough about Galidraan and Jaster Mereel for her to know that, as well as that fateful day above Tatooine almost six years ago. To make matters worse it was almost Boba's tenth birthday. What would have been his tenth birthday, anyway. A day of many regrets for the both of them.

She knew that he would be chary, and understandably so, about getting close to _anyone_ again, because he knew by experience that losing people you cared about _hurt_. Neither of them was safe enough that they could afford to get attached to each other.

So really, it was better if she just... went, while they were still on professional terms. Better to keep the link on a partnership level and be safe, than risk him facing the galaxy again in pain and _without_ her...

The Clawdite wiped tears away firmly as she finished the packing and went to look for her partner.

* * *

((_Move your feet! _Only stupid outlanders stay still!)) 

He saw his pupil flinch at the accusation, and heard him stammer ((Y-yes sir.))

B'brk'ah swiped up high, then ducked and spun to strike low – and, Oh'Sorro'ger was gratified to observe, moving his feet all the while – swinging the heavy head of the gaffi stick around in a wide arc and stabbing with the rear. He blocked it easily.

((Keep yourself still until the movement, or they will guess your actions.))

((Yes sir.))

B'brk'ah tensed and stabbed quickly at Oh'Sorro'gers' ribs, his teacher noting the lean of his shoulders and moving to block the strike –

– Which reversed and turned into a heavy blow across the back of the knees that made him stagger, although thankfully the smallness of the gaffi stopped the blow from breaking anything. The Tusken jumped back from the follow-up and yelled ((stop!))

B'brk'ah did so, and he was both pleased and proud to notice the reluctance of the uli'ah to do so. This one was a fighter, whatever else he was.

((Where did you learn that?)) he asked neutrally.

B'brk'ah panted and lowered the gaffi slightly. ((I don't know. I just thought that was where the gaffi should go.))

((Ah, good. But you have forgotten...))

Oh'Sorro'ger stabbed as quickly as a sand snake, knocking his pupil backwards with the blunt end.

((... not to lower your guard.))

B'brk'ah clutched his stomach and wheezed. ((S-sorry sir.))

((As you should be. A Ghorfa who lowers their guard is a dead Ghorfa.)) He gentled his voice slightly. ((You did well enough. Now go; it is time for the storytelling.))

The uli'ah did so, leaving his teacher behind to follow more slowly. With a professionals' eye the old Tusken noted that the youngster was growing fast, almost as tall as his mother's sister's son. Perhaps it would be time soon to let him start using an adult gaderafi, at least for practise. He was big enough, and it would help him develop his strength.

But for now it was good enough to gather and listen to their clan history, and forget for a while about fighting and bloodshed in the real world.

* * *

Jango sat alone in his quarters, hearing the rain drum on the roof above. 

It was Boba's birthday.

Or rather, it would have been.

It always got worse at this time of the year... everything. The regrets. The memories. The dreams. The pain.

The _loneliness_.

_A bounty hunter has no attachments. _

What a fool he had been.

Of course, it had never really gone away, but there were things that helped. Training the ARCs, that helped him forget for a while, although looking at them hadn't got any easier. Hunting new bounties – fewer now, he had to admit – helped, because of the concentration and sheer focus he needed to stay alive during them, driving out any memories he might be hauling around.

Zam had helped as well, but... well, _but_. But everything, really. She was gone now, anyway, left for Coruscant or some such place. Probably gone to blow her credits at the Outlander Club, or some other cantina. Irresponsible, reckless and, of course, totally Zam.

_Oh, and you're very professional, aren't you?_

She'd wake up somewhere strange with rifled pockets, a pounding headache, and no recollection of the night before most likely...

_Maybe she's the smart one. _

Ha. Maybe.

There were advantages to forgetting, after all.

So he should forget about her, about Boba. He was dead and she was... she was Zam, and not going to come back, unless on strictly professional terms. And she was right, of course.

Of course.

Only danger lay in that direction.

_So bounty hunters _avoid _danger, do they? _

_Whose side are you on?_ he snapped at his mind.

_Yours. As always._

It was a terrible thing when your thoughts ganged up on you.

Obviously he had been sitting in here too long, listening to the rain. He should get out and... do something. Take his mind off things. Just for a bit.

He got up and went out, leaving the rain to patter unheeded.

* * *

B'brk'ah sat with his legs swinging over the cliff face, looking down on the encampment in the Wastes below, watching the stars come out. He knew his mother would scold for straying so far from the safety of the tents, but this was his favourite spot in the area, perfect for looking down on everything and for once seeing them as smaller than he was. 

For some reason he never felt scared being on his own, despite his upbringing. For all their savagery Ghorfa were a social people. Perhaps it was due to environment – few things other than a Krayt Dragon could afford to wander by themselves and hope to live. They _had_ to be sociable.

_Hope_. Tuskens had no word for hope, but B'brk'ah had learned some Huttese with the other uli'ah, and could express the emotion in those words. He hadn't felt it in a long time, not that that was a bad thing. Hope could get you killed on Tatooine.

Killed. Like Ur'Uruuga. His tribe – his real tribe – would sing songs of him, but here no-one cared that he was gone apart from his mother and maybe Oh'Sorro'ger, who had met him once at his cousins' bond ceremony. He felt himself snuffle dryly.

His bantha sat down beside him, carefully pressing her bulk against his thin body, trying to consol him. Stroking her velvety nose soothingly, B'brk'ah stared down at the camp for a few moments, thinking. The tribe gather during the sandstorm season had brought up some of these old memories, especially when he had met K'RruR'or again. It had been an explosive meeting.

_((You are back!))_

_The uli'ah had run straight across the huddle of tents and almost pushed him backwards with the force of her hug. He blushed and wriggled as he heard Grk'cho'tha give a sneering laugh. _

_((Yeah,)) he muttered uncomfortably. _

_((It has been so boring without you! Urr'gHor – you will never guess – his mate gave birth by the oasis! He isn't so bad now; he spends so much time looking after them both that he can't really be annoying...))_

_((Er, good.)) He wondered what else to say, what he could tell her about his new tribe that was nice._

_A knot of anxiety had formed in his gut. What if they were just so different now, what if they just stopped being friends?_

_He finally thought of something to say, as she looked on with concern. _

_((I'm having special weapons training. I should be there now.))_

_((Really? Suns, you must be good! I always knew you were good! Can I come with you?))_

_The tension had eased. Nothing had changed all that much. ((Yes, of course.))_

He had been so grateful. He wished she was here now.

_Wishes are for fishes. _

He frowned. Fishes? What fishes? What were fishes?

_Don't wish. You're my big fish!_

Why did he think that? It was in a language he barely remembered... there had been someone, someone in a bright blue shirt...

_Swim away big fish!_

He shrugged and got up to go back to the camp. It probably wasn't important anyway.

* * *

Jango swung from the gym bars lightly; glad he wasn't losing his touch. A bounty hunters' life would often depend on his own strength, not his weapons or armour, and Jango knew that better than most. He trained as much as was physically possible. 

Hell, it was almost a pastime. Well... _was_. What else was he going to do? He had never exactly been _sedentary_...

He _needed_ something to do. Dooku had sent a tight-band message only this morning, saying that he might have a bounty soon, but since then... zip. The old ex-Jedi was certainly taking his own sweet time about producing a substantial job.

"You should get some rest you know."

He almost groaned, but managed to stop it halfway.

"What do you want _this_ time?"

"Just to talk, that's all."

"You've talked. Now piss off."

"Oh no, not this time. You need to deal with this I'm afraid. You need to let go."

Jango dropped to the ground. Skitira sighed.

"Of your _grief_. It only slows you down."

"I have." He had. He could go whole days without the pain sneaking up on him and catching him unawares.

"No, you just have it buried. You have to _accept_ it."

"Go away."

"I'm only telling you what you need to know." Skitira's voice was quiet.

"_Go."_

He went.

Jango watched the elder man leave stonily. What the hell did Skitira know anyway? And even if he did... it was none of the old _di'kuts_ business. It was no-ones business. The best thing for everyone to do was_ leave him alone_.

Dooku had better come up with that damn bounty quick. The old Jedi-turned-Sith could grumble away, if he didn't have a job by the end of the month then he would damn well go out and get one himself. Whatever it took to get away from Skitira and the never-ending nagging that he had to_ let go_, and_ accept his grief._ Like he was some sort of _Jedi_.

Jango felt a sudden unreasoning anger. _Let go, _and_ accept_... why? Why should he? In a galaxy that killed innocent men and innocent children, there could be no room for someone who _let go_. A galaxy such as that should be raged against, not _accepted_.

He went back to his quarters. He had lost his taste for the gym.

* * *

B'brk'ah yawned and tugged the bantha horn charm sewn to the front of his robes, looking around under the suns for the last of the gourds. He had heard that there were a few around here, but he had only collected two this morning and he was _sure_ there were more around. 

His bantha shuffled along beside him, trying to help. He often did that, and since his sense of smell was much better than B'brk'ah's it was often more than just _try_.

B'brk'ah had sometimes secretly nicknamed the bantha cub _Pateesa_, the Huttese for friend or partner. To do so was in complete rebellion against Ghorfa law, even more than naming Loca (who was a massif and therefore didn't matter very much), and against his own upbringing. As he had thought before; your bantha was a part of you, like your foot or your hand. You didn't name them. They were _there_. But B'brk'ah had started to shy away from thinking like that because it almost suggested that he... _owned_ his cub in some way... like he owned his feet and hands.

The uli'ah didn't have a very highly developed moral code, but he did think that owning another being was bad, very bad. As bad as taking off your mask in public, or tipping water to the ground without drinking it. Maybe even _worse_.

Anyway, it was something _outlanders_ did, and he wasn't an outlander, no matter what stupid Grk'cho'tha and his stupid friends said. He was Ghorfa. The outlander part of him was so long ago it didn't even matter anymore.

And besides, _his_ bantha, while still there, wasn't really a part of him. Oh, the bond was just as strong as any other Ghorfa/Bantha bond, but that didn't mean Pateesa was a part of him, anymore than Loca was. They were simply three small cubs helping each other on a harsh world.

B'brk'ah sometimes wondered if this was better or worse than what other Ghorfa did. Maybe it was just different.

Pateesa lowed and started to dig in the rocks under the gully, nudging aside the sharp stones with his soft nose, which were chased by the massif before it realised with embarrassment that the stones weren't alive. His partner hurried over and gently pushed the bantha away, before rooting himself among the shards and pulling up a tough skinned vegetable covered in reflecting crystals. It must have fallen there during a rockslide.

B'brk'ah spotted something else as well. There, caught just within arms reach, a long yellow flower with a tube-like stem. A Funnel Flower. It must have been knocked off in the same landslide.

The uli'ah pulled at it. It was particularly big for a flower, almost as long as his arm, and heavy with moisture. The roots clung to the rock even after he had tugged at it, as if trying desperately to hold on to life. B'brk'ah hesitated.

It was damp. He should probably bring it back and let his mother crush it for juice; water was no joke out in the Wastes, or anywhere else on Tatooine. She would be very pleased with him for finding even this tiny amount.

But... it was trying so hard to hold on. Like them, really. Clutching on to the rocks and sand in hope of living just one more day, one more hour. And it was so bright, so glowing.

He felt confused. This was not how a Ghorfa thought.

But really, it was such a small amount of water... it wasn't as though they had a severe shortage or something...

And if he replanted it, it would probably live and grow to produce water for when they really needed it.

He paused, before scraping away rock chips from a likely spot and settling it in, packing sand and stones around it until it was wedged in tight. There, that should do it.

Loca growled and looked up at him, evidently puzzled by the actions of his Ghorfa friend. B'brk'ah patted the hideous head and smiled underneath his mask.

For some reason he felt as though he had done something very right.

* * *

He stood for who-knew-how-long staring at the flower, before victorious cries and bellows shattered the calm air. He looked around and saw the party of warriors, before scampering back with the two animals to see what the uproar was about. 

The band had gone off before dawn, sneaking around the outlander settlements in groups of three or four. The outlanders had probably gotten a good scare – B'brk'ah gave a croaking Tusken laugh at the thought. They had probably wet themselves!

He carried on cheerfully to the camp centre, where the warriors were gathered. Grk'cho'tha was there, and his cronies, who gave their characteristic jeers as he approached. He ignored them.

His cousin was not so easily denied. ((Time to find out if you are a real Ghorfa.))

B'brk'ah stared at him in bemusement, before peering through the bodies to the middle of the crowd.

_There_, slung between two warriors. An outlander, whether male or female he couldn't tell – they didn't wear proper gender-specific masks like Ghorfa did. It was unconscious, which was probably a blessing.

No, not _probably_. _Certainly_. He knew what happened to outlanders caught by Ghorfa, and so he knew that when the being woke up it would regret it big time. The whole point of the bloodrites was to extend the creatures life as far as possible, sometimes even for weeks. He didn't really enjoy the bloodrites, but he didn't hate them either. They were just something that happened, like sandstorms.

B'brk'ah had seen it done on desert wraids before, but never on an actual sentient. Urr'gHor had tried once for his adult rituals, but he had hit the moisture farmer too hard on the head and it had died from shock. The youth had been very embarrassed by his carelessness, and forced to use a Rill instead.

He watched as the outlander was taken to the ceremonial tent, before going to his own in disquiet. It shouldn't make any difference really. It was a dirty outlander, and enemy. It didn't matter.

All the same, he went to his home tent faster than normal.

* * *

A month after his disastrous attempt at helping speed the grieving process, Skitira entered the training area and sighed as the ARCs within looked up, and then down with disappointment. He knew who they had expected, as well as he knew that that person was even now on his way to Coruscant, after some bounty or other. 

"Sorry, _adi'ike_. He's gone."

"He's always gone," one mumbled, before snapping to attention. "Apologies sir, I spoke out of turn."

"At ease." Out of turn but not incorrectly. The youngster had a point.

Another gave a hesitant salute. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"What's wrong with him? He hasn't been right for years now. Is he sick?"

Skitira winced. _Oh, you've got yourself into it now. How do you answer that?_ Jango wouldn't appreciate it if his sob-story was spread around the barracks.

On the other hand, they _had_ asked, and he could trust them to keep their mouths shut.

And it wasn't as if Jango could get any angrier with him at the moment.

"There was a little boy who died a long time ago," he started, seeing them all stand straight and look attentive. "His name was Boba Fett..."


	14. Chapter 14

**I was going to make you wait a few more days, but I got this finished early and decided to put it up. It's all coming together!**

**Dedicated to my loyal reviewers, Jedi Knight 13, Lizzie Blakeney, t-fly, Rhysati Ynr, weeebleedeegogers,** **Darquecyder 6, Queen Ame, GiantMonkeyMan and Man'alor. This one's for you, folks!**

* * *

((You are distracted,)) Oh'Sorro'ger rumbled as B'brk'ah almost missed his strike and was forced to compensate hastily. ((Concentrate!)) 

((Sorry sir,)) the uli'ah mumbled, trying to redeem himself with an improvised strike. His teacher spun it aside, along with his gaffi.

The disarmed youngster stood completely still as the older Ghorfa sighed, kicking the miniature weapon towards his pupil. ((Something troubles you. Is it the heat?))

((No sir.)) It had unusually hot for that time of year, but that wasn't why he was distracted. He kept his mask tilted slightly downward, as if warding off a blow.

Oh'Sorro'ger looked at him closely, before grunting. The uli'ah was probably still worried about another outlander raid. Not that there was much to worry about – the raggedy collection had been virtually slaughtered.

B'brk'ah picked up his gaffi slowly and stood straight before his instructor. ((Am I free to go, sir?))

((Ghorfa are always free to go, anywhere they please within their own grounds.)) He softened slightly as the uli'ah continued to stand almost to attention, humiliation clear in every line of his robe. ((If you only concentrate during your practises you will surpass even me in the end.))

He stifled a chuckle as the uli'ah looked shocked, before bowing and running hastily to his home tent. He did not often give out praise, but he had meant every word he said. A good pupil, that one.

He went to his own tent, ignoring, as every other Ghorfa did, the screams coming from one tent in particular.

* * *

Jango touched down on Coruscant gently, seeing his hololink flicker to life almost as soon as he landed. "_Jango, It's me, Zam. You said you had a job?_" 

He pulled the reply transceiver towards him. "Dooku gave me a high-profile on a Senator from Naboo. I thought that I could maybe sub-contract."

The face in the holo grinned like a crocodile. "_How much_?"

"A lot. Interested?"

"_Well, I don't know, the nightlife here is so much fun..."_

Jango waited patiently for her sense of humour to wear itself out. It took a shorter time than usual.

"_Oh all right, if you really must._"

"She lands tomorrow morning in a J-Type diplomatic barge. A bomb might work."

"_Hey, when _I_ start telling _you_ how to do things, you can give me hints, yeah?_"

He sighed. Touchy female.

"Just don't screw it up. Be _subtle_."

"_Yes _sir_. Subtle-ing up now, _sir"

He switched off the link and started to exit his ship, laughing quietly.

His mood was dampened a little by the security officer outside, who was inspecting his ship with what Jango considered to be a rather rude and self-officiousness air. What in space was a CSF agent doing here?

"Your ship?" the man turned, chewing on a wad of stim-gum, his blaster still holstered.

"Might be. Why?"

"It been in service for than four years?" Chew, chew, chew. Damn he hated it when people did that when they talked. Who invented gum anyway?

"Maybe."

Chew, chew. "You paid any tax? Or have I got the wrong ship?"

"Depends."

Chew. "On what?"

Jango's face was deadpan. "On whether you want to see retirement."

The agent stopped chewing and turned white, drawing his blaster. Jango didn't move. "Threatening an officer of the law is a serious offence..."

"It wasn't a threat. It was a _promise_."

"Hands in front where I can see them!"

"Oh please."

"Do it!"

Jango shrugged and put his hands out as if to be cuffed. "As you wish."

He fired his dart caster.

The agent looked at the bounty hunter for a moment in pure horror, before pitching forward on his face. Jango stepped over him. "Disgusting habit."

Time to go a-hunting.

* * *

The uli'ah scampered for the edge of the camp with his massif and bantha companions, and KReu'Ar noticed with concern his haste. Her son wasn't usually so quick to go and hunt for gourds, but lately he had taken to going as far away from the gather of tents as possible in his search, staying out from dawn till dusk. 

_Lately_, she knew, could be replaced by _one month_. Ever since the outlander had been brought in...

The Tusken woman sighed with worry and went back to tanning her hides. The first time for him to see a sentient being part of a bloodrite was bound to be distressing, but was their way of life. He had to learn.

If he couldn't, if he showed too much sorrow or objected or acted in any way inappropriately... their position in this tribe was not secure enough. If they were with their home clan and Ur'Uruuga was still alive to stand up for them...

She felt he vision mist as she thought of her dead mate. Ghorfa had no word for _grief_, so she couldn't describe how she felt when she thought of him sometimes, the memory catching her unawares in the small hours of the morning or late at night as she stared up at the tent roof and missed his warmth beside her.

If only he was still here...

She rubbed her scraping stone over the leather, trying not to think about it. She could almost hear Ur'Uruuga telling her _it is not the Ghorfa way to dwell on things we cannot control_.

* * *

The _Slave_ _I_ took off in the gloom of Coruscants' night. 

The darkness in his mind was deeper.

He had failed, yet again. The senator was still alive, her bounty uncollected. Zam's bomb had been unsuccessful, killing only some blasted decoy. The more subtle approach had been disastrous, not only leaving the senator alive but leading a pair of Jedi right after his partner, tracking her to the Outlander and wounding her so badly she had been ready to betray him and he had been forced to...

No. Don't think about it.

_A__ bounty hunter is free of attachments. _

Free. Well, he was free now. He had nothing to be attached to anymore.

_You never said anything. _

He had done what he had to. She would have understood.

_She died cursing you. _

It was over with now. No going back.

_You never even said thank you. _

No going back for any of them.

* * *

B'brk'ah shivered and hugged his knees on his favourite place at the top of the canyon ledge, feeling Pateesa rumble and press himself against his partner in order to keep the _uli'ah_ warm. Loca, being less intelligent than his bantha counterpart, just gambolled near the edge and scratched among the rocks hopefully, looking for insects. 

The sound of screams was rising in the twilight air.

He shivered again, and told himself not to be so pathetic. But he couldn't help himself. The screams were much worse in camp, much louder, and he couldn't afford his new tribe to see him act like this, he knew that. That was why he had crawled up here for privacy.

He hadn't even gone near the tent, not since his first time when his mother had taken him in to take part. She had noticed his distress immediately, but still insisted that he take up one of the knives and draw blood. She had been right to do so, but...

He had obeyed, but afterwards he had come straight back up here and only stopped himself being sick with great difficulty. Turned out that it really _was_ different with a helpless outlander instead of a wraid.

He clung on tight to Pateesa and tried to stop the traitorous thoughts, but he couldn't help himself. A small part of him, deep but loud, was shouting that if you were going to kill someone it should be swift, simple... _clean_. Over and done with quickly. Not dragged out over a month or so...

The screams died away. Pateesa lowed worriedly and licked his face mask as he controlled his shivers and started to get up, ready to go back. The outlander had probably fallen unconscious once more, and he could go back and sleep... until it woke up again.

* * *

Meanwhile Jango was controlling himself as well with great difficulty, but facing a much more pertinent enemy. 

"Greetings Jango." Taun We was as serene as ever, untouched by her human friends' troubles. He envied her. "Was your trip productive?"

"Fairly," he said evenly, studying the man accompanying her.

Reddish-brown hair and blue eyes – common enough among humans. A steady gaze, which was slightly less so – very few beings dared to look him in the eye. A warriors' stance despite that mild expression – this one knew how to fight, that was for sure.

Jango barely noted these; too busy noting the brown robes, the white tunic... and the lightsaber.

"This is Master Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi. He's come to check on our progress."

_Jedi_.

The damn Force-user was standing _right there_, in _his_ quarters, lying through his teeth at Taun We. Of all the things to turn up, of _all the people_ that could have tracked him here, it had to be one of _those_ murdering sons of Jawas...

He countered the Jedis' questions with answers as equally bland, his mind racing behind his mask. However dense they could be, they were not that stupid, and it would surely occur to them that he had been behind that failed attempt to assassinate the Naboo Senator with Zam...

_Zam_. If he had been allowed to, he would have winced. Zam, who had tried to help him find his son ,who had got him back on track, who had rescued him from the Zygerrians, who had always _been there_, who had helped him _so much_...

Now gone. Now dead.

He had killed her.

_I had no choice!_ He tried to tell himself this as he sparred verbally with the Jedi, but the memory wouldn't go away. Of Zam lying there, one-armed thanks to those two Jedi, trying to protect him but giving in to pain and finally snapping, him raising his arm and shooting...

He had had no choice. She had been about to inform on him. He had had to protect himself.

_He had killed her. _

Now, as the Jedi thanked him for his time and bowed, he couldn't help but wonder why he had bothered.

Dead and gone, thanks in part to those two Order-bound freaks. Like the Mandalorians...

He couldn't help it; the words just came out with a bite of sarcasm.

"Always a pleasure to meet a Jedi."

* * *

B'brk'ah couldn't stand it any longer. It was the middle of the night, and from his home tents position near the holding cell he could hear the dry sobs coming from within, as if the outlander was too tired to hold in its grief. He had to do something. 

Careful not to disturb his mother, he went outside and crept cautiously around the perimeter. There were two guards of course – he thought he could recognise his uncle among them– but he was small and quiet, and besides he knew a back way. A tent was no real challenge to someone who knew just how to wriggle under the outside flap and burrow inside, bringing up K'RruR'or's glowstick to light the interior.

It smelt horrible, like a corpse-strewn battlefield at the end of a raid on the Jawa sandcrawlers. Rancid and horrible. B'brk'ah suppressed the urge to vomit, and settled for looking around in an effort to distract himself.

The outlander was strapped up to the torture frame as ever, now moaning faintly. He couldn't understand the words, but they conjured images in his mind of... strange things... looking up at someone and feeling almost like he felt about his mother...

It moaned again, the words blurring in his ears. "Ssssown? Suuurn?"

He shook his masked head and tried to dispel the images. They were too distracting, he had to _think_.

The outlander quieted down to a raspy croak, and he guessed at least part of its speech. It looked horribly thirsty.

B'brk'ah dithered. Wasting water was a banishing offence...

It started to sob again, softly and continuously, and he knew he had to _shut it up _somehow. He took down a water skin buried near the edge and scurried towards the outlander, holding up the rim to its lips and making hushed encouraging grunts.

It blinked as if confused, then starting to gulp down the precious liquid as he tipped up the pouch and let the water run in a stream over its mouth. It drank the skin almost empty, before closing its eyes with a sigh.

"Aaaani."

Outlanders made the weirdest noises.

B'brk'ah hastily put away the skin and made for his burrow at speed, fearful of what would happen if one of the guards outside happened to peek in. It would sleep for a bit now, he could rest in peace. He couldn't afford to hang around any longer.

He scampered back to his tent and dived into his sleep roll, to wait for morning. Bandy was there, as always. He made a very good pillow, and his familiar smell and softness helped dispel the stink of the holding tent, the stink of blood and fear... and death.

* * *

Jango had very few happy memories, but he figured this one might be added to the list. 

Blasting Jedi was always fun.

It had been a little humiliating to run from the Force-user on Kamino, but he had enough sense to realise that a fight would have been a pointless waste of time. He had killed Jedi before – many – but he recognised the warrior behind the smooth words and mild features of the robed human, and frankly he couldn't be bothered to spend X amount of time beating the stupid beings' arse from here to Coruscant in the rain. Maybe he was just getting old.

But the idiot had decided to track him, and so he wasn't about to give him any second chances. The Jedi really should have taken the hint.

He flew through a storm of Jango's unleashed scarlet needles, spinning and swooping and pulling off enough stunts for the bounty hunter to quietly give him points for at least _trying_ to survive this encounter. Not that there was much chance of that, of course.

A spray of sparks burst from one of the wings, and the fighter wobbled slightly.

_Gotcha_.

He pulled out a trigger lever from the control panel and took careful aim, before firing the tracking missile at point-blank range. Jango couldn't help but gave a nasty grin as the Jedi, seeming to realise his danger, twisted and turned through a series of increasingly complicated manoeuvres to dodge his fate.

_Come on, Jedi. Don't you believe in _destiny

The scum-sucker looked destined to get blown to very small pieces among the asteroid field, as the missile was clinging to him tighter than a tick on a bantha. The tiny ship sped between two asteroids, missing the rocks by inches, but he seemed to have used up all his tricks because the next thing Jango saw was a rather satisfying explosion, followed by a complete lack of Jedi.

_Always a pleasure to kill a Jedi. _

He grinned wider and steered the Slave I towards Geonosis, muttering under his breath,

"Well I won't be seeing you again."

* * *

B'brk'ah lay and looked at the tent ceiling, clutching Bandy to his chest tightly. The toy bantha was the only remnant of a past he no longer remembered or understood. Certainly he no longer remembered or understood why holding the stuffed animal – who was now missing most of his fur and stained a dingy brown-grey colour – comforted him so, in the rare moments he still cuddled it. Mostly it stayed safely in the tent, serving as a pillow above his bedroll. 

But now it was pressed against his head, trying to block out the noise that was filtering through the night smothering the camp.

The outlander had started again.

He felt irrationally angry at the pathetic creature. Why did have to do this? Why did he have to be the only one it affected so? No-one _else_ got woken up at a time so early in the morning it was still late at night.

Well there was only one way to shut it up. He put down Bandy carefully and crept out of the tent. Chenini had reached its zenith in the night sky, full and round as his bantha-horn charm. He fingered it as he slipped around the outskirts and to the ceremonial tent, noting as he did so that Oh'Sorro'ger was on guard outside with one of the older warriors.

Suns, that wasn't good. His teacher had ears like a sand bat.

Very carefully, he sneaked around to his little burrow, wriggling through the slight hole and grabbing something from his pouch as soon as he was inside. He couldn't keep on using the water skin, it was too risky, and so he had gathered this while out hunting womp rats... just in case.

He reached the outlander, who looked worse than ever, and knelt down beside it. It stirred as he shook it gently, and opened its eyes with a croak as hoarse as any Tuskens'.

B'brk'ah sat on his knees for a moment, momentarily stunned. The eyes... they were familiar... they made him think of great sand lumps, like the dens in the townships or the moisture farms, and a metal things that clattered and spoke in the peculiar outlander tongue.

A thought so sudden and unexpected that he almost gasped struck him. This outlander was female.

The strange eyes met his goggles, and it – she – groaned something.

"Aaaani?"

He hurriedly made hushing noises, before squeezing the funnel flower between gloved hands and into the shallow bowl by its feet. The water that came out wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, and he wasn't about to get caught stealing supplies for an outlander who by the looks of it was going to be dead by dawn.

She drank the water and sighed gratefully, but then looked at him with puzzlement through curtains of brown hair slicked with sweat and blood.

"Wwwhyyyy?"

He just tilted his head and made a hand gesture, indicating that he didn't understand. She blinked and gasped another breath, letting it out with a sigh. B'brk'ah didn't know much about sentient expressions – he hadn't had much chance to learn – but he thought she looked peaceful.

"Thhhawnk yooooo."

He tilted his head in bewilderment, before shrugging. She sounded grateful, whatever she was saying. He patted it on the shoulder, trying to indicate by touch alone that he was sorry, that he had to leave, and that he hoped she died painlessly.

She didn't stir.

Grunts outside made his head shoot up in alarm, and he dived for the burrow. Just as his teacher poked his head around the flap – seeing nothing more than the outlander unconscious once more and still – he was out and running for his home tent, plunging headlong inside and pulling the bedroll over his head, his heart pounding with fright.

For a moment he heard something sniff outside the door and almost bit his tongue in terror, but it was only Loca wanting him to come out again and play. After a while the young massif gave up and went away disappointed, leaving his friend to huddle under his blankets, shaking slightly.

_Never again_, he vowed to himself. He had done what he could, but if he was caught... B'brk'ah shuddered. Not only would he be killed or banished, but most likely his mother would as well. The uli'ah hugged Bandy close and tried to sleep, in vain.

He never knew later how long he lay there, his eyes squeezed shut, and his face wraps buried in the toy bantha. Maybe he even slept, because the next thing he remembered was his mother yawning and stirring, ready to rise and cook their morning meal. She nudged him.

((It is time to get up.))

He jumped up instantly, much to her surprise. Usually he had to be shaken awake.

The uli'ah hurried outside the tent, meeting a delighted Loca, who leapt up to sniff his mask. Pushing the massif down, he glanced around in the weird greyish light, seeing the others in the camp start to stir. His mother came out behind him and groaned.

((They have let the fire burn almost out. B'brk'ah, go and fetch some more of the blackrock.))

((Yes mama.)) Blackrock was strange stuff, dug out of the mountains in the south. It burned like cloth, and was good for keeping a fire going.

He ran to the back of the tent, where their supply lay buried. Gathering up two handfuls, he ran back and dumped them on the sullenly glowing campfire. His mother was suspending a pot over the sparks, filled with the leftover womp rat meat from yesterday.

((A few more lumps should do it,)) she said distractedly.

He ran back with Loca, who followed in good fun, his tongue lolling idiotically. The massif rumbled happily as he pushed its head, before grabbing a handful and hurrying back. He was almost to KReu'Ar when something hissed like lightning.

B'brk'ah turned around and caught a blaze of blue light – brighter than the suns! – that flared in his vision and made him cover his eye tubes and scream with the pain of it.

Then several things happened at once.

KReu'Ar gave an alarm call and started forward, pushing back her son and screaming ((_get in the tent!_)) as she ran forward with a drawn gaderafi, Loca at her side and snarling. B'brk'ah picked himself up and ran back, tripping over his gaffi stick and falling as the rest of the camp followed the alarm and swept over him in a tide.

A foot kicked his head and stars burst behind his goggles. He remembered nothing more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Another early one, because I'm such a nice person. Really. **

**Free cookies and bear to all my reviewers - I love you guys (and gals).**

* * *

Jango looked out over a rocky red landscape, blown by a dust storm that veiled the sun and cast a bloody light over the stones. 

Scouts had reported unusual activities in the desert, and a droideka team had been sent out. Apparently traces had been found in the main hive spire, and tracks half-swept away by the blustery night winds had been spotted leading out into the wastes. All of these pointed to a sentient spy. Dooku had thought it was the Jedi.

Maybe he wasn't so dead after all.

Jango scowled. Was it too much to ask for him to kill _anyone_ the first time?

* * *

B'brk'ah woke with a start, pushing his head up from the ground with care. There a grungy feeling in his mouth, his neck was sore, his eye tubes were packed with sand, and his gaffi was in two pieces beside his head. Wiping them clear, he looked around. 

Dawn had just broken. At first he could barely understand what he was seeing: the grey light highlighting the tents; the sand around him was strewn with strange swellings. He lifted his head higher and could make out the spilled cook-pot, a dropped rifle, a scatter of blackrock still glowing in the dust. A weird moaning sound filled the air.

His eyes hurt and he covered his goggles with his hands. When he let them drop, the picture started to make horrible sense.

The swellings were people.

There was the clan Urr'Ak, his robes charred, his rifle melted, his gaffi broken. There was his uncle, sprawled across a smouldering fire to that his robes were starting to smoke. There was his cousin Grk'cho'tha nearby, his miniature gaffi still clutched in his fist. There lay another uli'ah, shielded by its mother.

B'brk'ah trembled silently and ran to the nearest lump, near the ceremonial tent, knowing in his gut what he was going to find. He reached the lump and knelt beside it.

KReu'Ar lay in the sand, her gaderafi lying beside her and Loca sprawled in a mound of fur by her robed legs, a gaping slash through her chest. Her mask was dusted with sand but still shone through, like a star through sandstorm mist. He stroked it gently, brushing away the grains. She was dead.

The moaning rose, like wind through the canyons walls in the wilderness, and he looked up fearfully. It sounded... alive.

Or maybe it was just the desert, mourning.

He looked down, too sunk in grief to care. They were gone, all gone. Even Loca. The tribes' banthas had fled, those that still lived, and he hoped Pateesa had been with them. He couldn't bear to go and looked among the silent tents for the cubs' body.

B'brk'ah slumped down and sobbed, adding his wails to the moans echoing over the Wastes and stroking his mothers' mask fitfully. This had to be just a dream, a bad dream. He would wake up to the sounds of banthas' grunting at their cubs and Loca whimpering impatiently for him to come out and play. He would go outside and meet Oh'Sorro'ger's teachings, Grk'cho'thas' taunts, his mothers' scolding, he would eat stewed womp rat meat and go and hunt for hubba gourds, or scurriers, or...

B'brk'ah cried dryly and hugged his knees, rocking back and forth as he keened. He knew that this was no dream.

A scraping sound made him look up, and he froze.

_Outlander_!

Large as life and twice as ugly, wearing dark robes and carrying a bundle in its arms. It stared at him, obviously as shocked as B'brk'ah was to see him.

The uli'ah leapt up and scrabbled for a weapon – anything. His fingers' closed on his mothers' gaderafi.

It was too big, but his was broken and... it felt right to use it. He pulled it into the guard position, feelings its weight both tire and comfort him.

The outlander did not attack. On the contrary, it seemed almost afraid to meet his eye, bowing its head over the bundle. B'brk'ah caught a glimpse of long brown hair swaying gently from one end.

Ah. Maybe this outlander had know the female, had found the camp wiped out and come to take her back. It looked as though she was dead, and he felt a little sad.

The outlander started to make a strange noise, and B'brk'ah knew suddenly where the moans had come from. Perhaps the female had been its sister, or mother. The uli'ah felt pity sting through his grief. They had both lost mothers, then.

As if catching his thought – could an outlander do that? – it looked down on KReu'Ar and made strange sounds in the outlander tongue, half-sad, half-apologetic. B'brk'ah didn't understand a word, but he got the gist. The outlander was sad that his mother was dead.

He let the gaderafi drop.

The outlander put down the bundle and went away without a word, leaving B'brk'ah to stare after him in bewilderment before he knelt back down beside his dead mother. Not knowing what to do, he straightened her robes and adjusted her mask, trying to put off the moment he would have to start thinking.

A whine-screech like the sound of two gaderafis' scraping down each other made him look up alarm. The outlander was riding back on one of their metal steeds, its face still twisted, and its teeth bared. B'brk'ah stood back up again as it went over to the bundle, picked it up and carried it to the metal steed, before jumping on board. Then it looked back, as if suddenly remembering something.

The uli'ah stared back at it.

The outlander made a series of muttered noised, as if asking the spirits what to do, before getting off the mount and walking back over the stand in front of him and look down. Its eyes were the colour of an afternoon sky, and its face was wet. Its features creased up.

Then it shrugged and went back to its mount, before looking over its shoulder and making an encouraging motion. B'brk'ah stared. No way. It couldn't actually want him to _follow_ it... he was Ghorfa! It was _outlander_. It would hurt him or kill him, or...

The outlander sighed and waved its arms, as if impatient.

His mind rebelled. It violated every single rule of the clans...

But a voice deep down, past his upbringing, whispered _what else am I going to do? Where else can I go?_

A Ghorfa child on his own in the Wastes wouldn't last to see sunset, if that. But to _leave_... Pateesa might still be out there...

_Or she might be dead, and even if she wasn't, how much help would she be?_

But to go among outlanders...

_The clan thought you were an outlander. Maybe the outlanders will as well. _

But _outlanders_...

_Is it more dangerous than facing the desert alone?_

No. It was time he grew up and faced the truth. There was no-one to help him, no-one here who would care whether lived or died. So he might as well go with this outlander.

And inside his mother whispered _before you were a Ghorfa you were an outlander...some say they can travel even further than the stars..._

He thought he might like to see those stars.

B'brk'ah waved back at it, indicating it should wait, before running to his home tent. Like any uli'ah he had helped pack up and move hundreds of times, and he knew exactly what to do. All of the dried meat, the hubba gourds, and deb-deb he could fit on his belt pouches disappeared, his bedroll was bundled away in a corner – too big to bring – and his fathers' rifle that had lain by the entrance was picked up. As he made for the flap his foot nudged something.

Bandy's eyes stared back up at him.

He picked the toy back up gently, before going back to his bedroll and tearing strips from it, wrapping the stuffed bantha over and over until it looked like nothing more than a bundle of dirty rags. Then he went outside, picking up two things from the ground as he did so.

The outlander grunted impatiently, but he took no notice, kneeling by his mother and placing the broken halves of his little gaffi stick of her chest, before standing back up. Lying in the sand, she looked almost as though she was sleeping, with the massif at her feet on guard.

He gave the two corpses a Tusken salute. ((Watch over her for me, Loca.))

Then he went and ran to the outlander, letting himself be lifted onto the shining mount. It was hard and uncomfortable – not like a bantha – and he clung on to the front of the saddle the outlander behind him twisted a couple of metal sticks and the whine-screech rose so high it hurt its head.

Then they were shooting away over the flats, as fast as light, and his yell was lost in the wind.

* * *

The scouts had been right, as had Count Dooku. It was the Jedi. 

But he was safe and captured now, so Jango didn't think any further of him. The pestilential being was probably locked up tight right now, being interrogated by the old Sith. Unless he had several hundred other Jedi hidden in its pocket, he wasn't going anywhere.

All the same... he might start patrolling the downlevels for a while. Just in case.

* * *

B'brk'ah was exhausted. It had been dawn when the journey had begun, and now the suns were starting to touch the horizon and send long shadows across the flats. The outlander hadn't spoken or stopped since leaving the camp. 

Finally the endless plane was broken by a rise, a silver thing like an enormous thin hubba gourd and a sandy hump too smooth to be natural. The metal mount slowed – B'brk'ah clenched his teeth in fear and closed his eyes – and stopped with a judder that made his backside bang against the hard seat. He opened his eyes tentatively and loosened his grip.

His courier dismounted and grabbed the dead female, not looking at the uli'ah. An outlander in blue robes was coming out of the building, followed by two more that looked like the farmers he had seen sometimes from a distance, and one that was – he stared – _floating_ on a metal seat thing. Shaking and confused, he huddled by the mount and looked at his feet.

There was a dead silence, like the camp. No-one spoke, not even to make the weird outlander-noises, until a surprised sound drifted over to him.

He looked up. The blue-robed outlander was coming towards him, holding out its hands as if trying not to scare him away. It needn't have bothered – he was too tired to go anywhere.

The other outlanders came over as well, a little more hesitantly. One gave a disgusted grunt, and the smaller one reprimanded him sharply. That sent them all off squawking and jabbering, like a pack of Jawas who had found a droid. B'brk'ah swayed slightly as the argument went on, his head spinning from the heat and noise.

A pair of gentle hand picked him up and carried him into a cool shady place, where finally the weariness of his strange, horrible, and confusing day let him drift into a deep sleep.

* * *

When he woke the light was paler, and he knew that he must have slept the whole night away. Getting up warily and checking that Bandy was still strapped to his side, he looked around at the strange room – like a cave made of smooth sand – and went outside where at least he could see familiar things like the suns and the sky. 

And the outlanders' as it turned out. They were all gathered along the rise with a sooty-coloured droid and looking towards the west, and a square of freshly-turned dirt. Only one turned to look at him, the blue-robed one who had picked him up and tried to be nice, in a weird outlander way. It wore white now, and spoke gently and gestured for him to stand beside it.

He gave a mental shrug and went over. They were all looking at the dirt and making sad noises, except the tall dark one who had brought him here. That one was silent.

B'brk'ah watched from his place beside white-robe as his guide went to the dirt and knelt on it, picking up a handful aimlessly. It whispered something mournful and full of regret to the stone that had been set at the head of the patch.

Oh, maybe it was a ritual for the dead. Ghorfa sometimes did that as well, only they didn't kneel in the dirt. But then outlanders were just weird.

B'brk'ah found himself snuffling just the same, earning himself a squeeze on the shoulder by the white-robed outlander. He didn't object.

A beep beside him made him jump as the dark outlander got up and turned. Another droid, rolling along bumpily across the stone flat, was tooting and chirping like a Woodoo chick. His comforter turned and said something both surprised and interrogative. The sooty droid turned to the outlanders and said something as an explanation, prompting the dark one to hurry to the silver thing lying out on the sand. The white-robed outlander followed him hurriedly.

B'brk'ah hesitated, but only for a moment. He didn't know anyone else here, after all. The white-robe was kind; and even if the dark one was a little scary it was still in his own position. It had lost a mother.

He scampered after the two outlanders, ignoring the shouts from behind him.

* * *

It was all strange, all too strange. Everything was silver – the walls, the ceiling, the floor – all silver and smooth and totally alien. 

But no. Not totally.

_A bouncy mattress... but hard and chilly. A white-walled, cosy room... a room that was dark and shone in the dim blue light. _

The two memories melded into each other, giving him a headache. Mother had told him... he had been an outlander... but he was Ghorfa...

Wasn't he?

The only blue here was condensed in the shape of a being that spoke flickeringly through a fuzz like sand being swept across dry rock. The two outlanders were paying close attention to it, and when it fizzled, to be replaced by another outlander the dark one made deferential noises and let the picture sputter out.

This commenced an argument in the jabbering outlander language between the two of them, while B'brk'ah waited, hungry and bored, for them to finish. He didn't dare eat or drink for fear of showing his face, so he had to endure until the dark ones' face twisted strangely and it sat down in one of the seats.

The white-robed one looked back at him as if seeing him for the first time, and said something urgent. Yet another quarrel ensued, the white-robe gesturing sharply over through a panel of clear stuff to the sandy dwelling, the dark robe shaking its head and waving its disgustingly bare hands in a nay-say gesture. Then it turned to the sooty droid, who in turn faced B'brk'ah and said something in outlander talk, then Huttese. Most Tuskens picked up at least a smattering of Huttese.

"_Master_ Anakin wondered if you would be so kind as to go back to _Miss_ Beru and _Master_ Owen, as he will be travelling with _Miss_ Padmé to _Geonosis_."

B'brk'ah stared. He hadn't a clue what _master_,_ miss _or_ Geonosis _was, but it was clear the two outlanders wanted him to leave.

But he didn't want to leave and go back to the other strangers. These two outlanders were quite enough!

"I stay with you?" he asked pleadingly. He addressed this to the dark one, thinking it was probably the male. It moved like a hunter. "I stay?"

The dark one replied in Huttese. "It will be too dangerous."

"I already in danger, much danger. Safe with you."

It – probably he – made a strange hiccupping noise like a sob crossed with a laugh. "I haven't been very successful protecting people lately."

"Other outlanders not want me." He stared at the dark one, willing him to understand. "I got mama's _Gaderafi_. I fight."

The blue-robe made an avid objection, but the dark one shook his head and twisted his face so his teeth showed. B'brk'ah backed away until he realised the outlander was happy instead of hungry.

"If you stay _on board_ with Threepio and Artoo I suppose you can't be in that much danger."

The white-robe didn't look impressed, but it pressed some buttons on the metal sheet in front of it and didn't say anything further. The dark one twisted his face again and gave a small chuckle.

"I am Anakin and she is Padmé. That's Threepio–" he pointed at the sooty droid "– and Artoo–" he pointed at the small shiny one. "Who are you?"

The uli'ah stared into the blue eyes, feeling as though the question stretched back his whole life.

"I am B'brk'ah, son of KReu'Ar and Ur'Uruuga."

* * *

It was a little later. The small Tusken had retreated into the back of the ship, snapping in broken Huttese for them not to look. They had obediently turned towards the view port, and there had been sounds of chewing and gulping, before it had come back up and pestered them to show it how him controls worked. 

At least Anakin _thought_ it was a he. Under all the robes it was difficult to tell.

Before, during the fight that now seemed only a dream... or later in the tent with his mothers' body in his arms... if someone had told him that he would be taking a Tusken child with him on a royal yacht to a planet he had never even heard of then he would have said they were insane. He still wondered if he was.

What were they going to _do_ with it–him? It was child from a barbaric race of killers; it had no _place_ in the bigger galaxy. He should have left it behind in the ruined camp, even though he knew that would have been tantamount to murder.

This was, of course, why he had taken the child with him; out of compassion and guilt and not a little pity. The way it had wailed over one of the bodies... he had a very uncomfortable feeling that maybe his mother had not been the only parent to die in that camp. What was worse, both deaths had been _his fault_.

Maybe it was the same one, the little one that had just stood there and screamed and screamed before being pushed out of his sight and lost.

So now he was stuck with a youngster carrying nothing but a gaderafi too big for it, a rifle as tall as itself and a tatty bundle of dirty rags in a sling. At first it had just lain huddled on the floor, shivering, but eventually it had started talking to Threepio in Huttese, apparently trying to learn a few Basic words in order to understand what they were saying.

Padmé was also looking at the robed figure with a curious gaze. "Anakin, do you even know how old he is?"

He blushed a bit in embarrassment, before asking. The Tusken stared through grimy goggles at him before saying–

"I have three and on-three-bit bantha birth cycles."

Oh great. "Threepio," he asked in Basic, "how long does it take for banthas to gestate?"

"Three standard years I believe, master Anakin."

Ok so... "What is a one-three-bit?" he asked the ragged youngster.

The Tusken made a series of gestures with its hands, as though chopping up the air. "Cut birth cycle to three bits, then get one."

Anakin sighed. Ten years old. He was trying to look after a ten year old child from a race he still hated with a fiery passion. Maybe after he had rescued his master he could turn the youngster over and it could be _Obi-Wan's_ problem. The older Jedi was probably better equipped for this anyway.

* * *

B'brk'ah looked through the clear panel, seeing a red circle loom big within it, and getting bigger. He gave an enquiring grunt, before remembering who he was with and repeating the question in Huttese. 

"What that?"

Threepio answered him. "That is _Geonosis_, Master B'brk'ah."

The uli'ah stared. "Gee-oh-no-sis?"

"A desert _planet_, inhabited by a semi-_insectoid_ species known as _Geonosians_. It has a large _diameter_ but light _gravity_ and dense _atmosphere_, and a weak _magnetic_ field, with water making up _5_ of the surface."

He stared some more. Geo-what's? Light what? Five what? He had got the desert part all right, but the rest...what was it _talking_ about?

Anakin barked a laugh and said something in outlander-speak to the droid, who immediately apologised to the confused Tusken youngling. "My apologises, _Master_ B'brk'ah. _Master_ Anakin has informed me that you do not know what a planet is."

B'brk'ah nodded slowly.

"Ah, well, it is a great _sphere_ of melted metal with a rocky mantle and earth and an _atmosphere_ made of various gases. Geonosis is a planet and so is Tatooine, which I believe is your home as well as _Master_ Anakin's."

_Huh? _

Anakin turned, his face all twisted up again to show his teeth. B'brk'ah resisted the urge to run away or scream and dishonour his clan at the sight of them.

"What Threepio is trying to say is that it's a big ball of dirt and rocks that things live on, and its so big you don't know its big until you see it from where the stars are."

"So..." He hesitated, not sure if he understood, "it the ground and we in the sky?"

"That's it. Sort of."

Well why hadn't they _said_ so? He relaxed slightly as Anakin went on to explain that there were many different rock-balls, most of which were ruled by an over-clan called _the Republic_, and that he was a _Jedi_ apprentice, which was a bit like a cross between an outrider and a guard. They had to go to this rock-ball because his teacher had been captured and they had to rescue him.

B'brk'ah nodded. Outlanders sometimes went to rescue people that were stupid enough to get themselves captured. It was silly; however he was starting to think that they were all a bit silly. Nice, though. But silly.

The crimson rock circle got so big that it filled the clear panel, and after a baffling minute of sand and blurry landscape B'brk'ah gasped. He could see _details_.

And such details!

Mountains, mesas, domes and rock spires like towering gaderafis', all built out of the same scarlet stone. And canyons, just like the canyons at home, great gashes in the landscape. They were flying over them so fast the edges of each of these were blurred, and for the first time B'brk'ah realised just how _fast_ they were going, that he – B'brk'ah son of KReu'Ar and Ur'Uruuga, a Ghorfa uli'ah – was flying, actually _flying_ like an urusai. If only he could tell K'RruR'or about this!

Clouds of white rose ahead, and Padmé said something. Anakin pointed and replied, and the silver-gourd-flier headed towards the columns. The whiteness engulfed their craft and paralyzed him with awe, along with not a little superstitious terror. They had gone above the stars, where legend said that ghosts dwelled. Were they in the land of the dead?

But the outlanders didn't seem concerned, so he made himself breath. He wouldn't shame his tribe by acting like a terrified baby!

Padmé got up and grabbed a shawl reminiscent of his mothers body-wrap (he felt his eyes mist a little at the memory), jabbering all the while in a decidedly authoritative manner. He almost snickered as Anakin replied with an_ I give up _tone, some things becoming clear. He had heard his papa answer his mother like that sometimes. The two outlanders must be mated.

They were almost to the door when Padmé turned, screwed up her face, and said something to Anakin, who turned to B'brk'ah and said "Wait here."

"Where you going?" he asked, a little resentful that he was being left behind.

"To rescue my master. It will be too dangerous for you to come."

The uli'ah was about to argue, but Padmé turned her screwed-up-face expression to him and made a gesture common to all females in all cultures.

It said: stay here! Or else!

He recognised that gesture, and saw the pointlessness or arguing with them. "I stay," he said innocently.

The outlanders nodded and went out, leaving him behind to wait in the silver-gourd while they departed. Once they were gone though... that was a different matter all together.

After all, he wasn't about to fly through the realm of the dead and journey with outlanders if he couldn't have _some_ fun.


	16. Chapter 16

Jango hurried down the tunnels from Stalgasin hive to the droid foundry, followed by enough droidekas to take on a legion of Jedi. Which was what he might be facing.

Reports had come back overt soon-ended communications, reports of two infiltrators, one of them holding a weapon that sounded nastily like a lightsaber. More damn Jedi...

Of course only one Jedi had been reported, but Jango had fought members of the Order before and he knew that Jedi were like lice. You'd find one, and squash it, then find another, and squash it, and another, and another, until fairly soon you were overrun with blood-sucking parasites.

With any luck he could stop the infestation right here.

* * *

B'brk'ah counted to ten, and then ten again, and then another ten, before he finally got bored and headed for the exit. Artoo followed him, prompting an objection from his sooty counterpart. The shiny droid replied with a _wheep wheep whoo_. 

Threepio said something sharp, sparking an argument that B'brk'ah didn't understand a word of. It sounded as though Artoo was on his side though.

Eventually the shiny droid wheeled off to the way out without bothering to reply to Threepio's angry commands. As it passed the uli'ah it turned a glowing cylinder like a Tusken eye tube towards him and gave an encouraging _wheep_. B'brk'ah grinned under his mask and followed, leaving his rifle behind (he could barely hold it upright) but taking his gaderafi with him... and Bandy.

Outside he looked around, and then up, and then gasped. There through the clouds of white stuff... up in the sky...

A sun.

Just one sun.

He almost dropped the gaderafi stick in shock. There were always two suns! You didn't have just one! It was like... like having only one eye, or hand, or ear...

_Ewwwww. _

Maybe the other one wasn't up yet, or the white stuff was hiding it. B'brk'ah hoped so.

He followed the shiny droid, trying not to look at the sky. It still gave him the shivers.

The sooty droid came after them, scolding all the way, but they ignored it, going to the side of the cliff face. A section of it swung out and up, making the Tusken yelp and jump backwards, only to be embarrassed as the droid went in without any hesitation.

Outdone by a stupid outlander-metal-droid! Well, he would _show_ them.

He could hear footsteps ahead, and hurried, outpacing the two droids. The outlanders must be there, in this strange place. Strange, but not particularly scary. It was just a bunch of dusty caves in the same old red rock that was everywhere here, all with a chewed-up look.

B'brk'ah felt cold. _Chewed_?

A hum and a _hiss-snap_ made him look up in alarm, but when he saw the horrible creatures that came swarming out of the tunnel ahead he gave no more thought to it, but just shrieked and swiped with his gaderafi.

They were _monsters_.

All long snouts and spindly limbs, clicking to each other like sand batss, most paying no attention to both he and the droids completely, scattering into various side caves. The one that didn't was the one he had hit by more luck than skill as it first came out, mouth agape. It turned on him, hissing.

B'brk'ah felt everything shaking. What _were_ these hideous things, living down here in the dark? Were they going to eat him, eat the outlanders? He decided not to find out.

The thing was unarmed, but its gangling arms had a great reach on them, and they snapped at for his neck. Howling a Tusken war cry, B'brk'ah struck at the waving appendages as the droids hurried past him, ignored, cracked one limb almost completely off. Oozing green fluid, the thing retreated and ran after its fellows.

B'brk'ah howled again and followed it, caught up with battle-fever and the joy of finding something that he could fight, no matter how outlandish or feeble. The tunnels raced past, one left, to the right, down a long slope, up another left, left again, right, and spiralling downwards where they opened up and became even gloomier.

Wrapped feet scuffed through the powdered rock beneath him as he sprinted after the creature, hopping on its spindly legs like a scurrier. It scooted down a side passage and out of sight.

The uli'ah stopped dead, peering down the tunnel. It was deserted and dusty and completely silent. He suddenly realised that he couldn't hear anything, anything at all, and that the tunnels all suddenly looked the same. He was alone. He was also lost.

Then the hissing started up and eyes lit around him, and B'brk'ah realised that while he might still be lost, he wasn't alone.

* * *

_Pathetic_, thought Jango, _truly pathetic._

Of all things – that the Jedi could have found this place, sneaked inside, killed who-knew-how-many Geonosians, survived the perils of the droid factory and having his arm trapped in on of the circuit boards...

To have done all that... and to be caught because his _lightsaber_ got broken?

Honestly, it made you wonder why the Republic bothered with them.

He gritted his jaw as the droidekas surrounded the unfortunate Jedi, gesturing for the human to start walking. From the sounds of it his partner had been caught as well, although when she was escorted to them he forgave her for gross incompetence. She was, after all, a senator.

They all started trooping along to the tunnels to the holding areas, where no doubt Dooku would want to talk with the pair. Or maybe they would just be taken straight to the audience chamber. He didn't really care either way. Sooner or later they would end up dead, and Jango wondered if maybe he could persuade the old Sith to have something to do with the Jedi's demise...

The fact that the girl was in trouble as well didn't bother him much. She had made her choice; she could take the fall. Besides, she _was_ a Senator. She'd probably weasel her way out of things one way or another.

Geonosian click consonants made him look past his prisoners to a group of workers carrying a ragged bundle between them. They whirred and clacked at his own escort, before dropping the bundle and making back for their nests. The bundle emitted a groaning noise and stood up, waving its stick after the bugs with a harsh cry.

Jango stared.

A _Tusken_?

Not an adult either; standing up, it barely reached his shoulder. Its gaderafi was almost as big as it was, and it had a roll of dirt rags strapped to its back. The senator started.

"What are you _doing_ here?"

Jango turned his gaze to her. "It's with _you_?"

The Tusken growled at his tone and waved its stick at them, emitting a stream of words too fast for him to catch, but that sounded like Huttese. The Jedi seemed to understand, however, and answered more slowly.

"You have been very stupid. Now you are caught just like us."

It winced, but jabbered a quick retort, before adding something that sounded rude in its own language. Jango gestured for the Geonosians to grab hold of it and help escort it up to the audience chamber, wondering if the whole galaxy had gone mad.

A Jedi, a senator and a Tusken child – what next?

* * *

A Jedi, a senator, and a Tusken child – what next? 

Dooku felt understandably put upon, although not because of the inconvenience. Really, this pathetic group had hardly caused any real difficulty, only as much as they were capable of. No, he was simply somewhat irritated that this motley group was the best that he was being offered. One gained prestige from the ability of ones enemies after all.

He particularly examined the Tusken with distaste. The whole galaxy knew that the creatures were backwards barbarians, barely on the level of beasts. And a _child_...

But the dark side whispered to him, and so while the Jedi and the senator – giving each other the most pitifully obvious lovers' looks – were lead away to await trial, he kept the Tusken, still clutching its oversized walking stick, in front of him. Something about it felt familiar.

It was only when Fett came back from escorting the prisoners that he realised why.

_Well well. _

Clones felt the same in the Force, or at least very similar. A Jedi or Sith who was paying attention – doing, for example, the Force equivalent of soul-searching in an effort to learn about someone – might notice this, if they were powerful and concentrating hard.

Dooku was both. He regarded the child and wondered at its significance.

It was not terribly difficult to fathom. The Kaminoans would have no more allowed a clone to leave their facility – if that was even possible – than they would have thrown themselves into the seas. In fact only one clone had ever left the planet, and that one had reportedly been killed over Tatooine. Or not, as it seemed.

It was entirely possible that this Tusken youngling was the same child that had been kidnapped six years ago.

And if it was?

Dooku pondered over this. Fett was apparently unaware that his dead son was alive and standing less than two metres from him, which left Dooku with two options, maybe three.

He could kill the little brat right here. He doubted Fett would stop him – even if the bounty hunter could – and it would solve the problem right away.

But undoubtedly the Mandalorian would sulk. He had some ridiculous notions about killing younglings, even if all evidence pointed towards the fact that he didn't _like_ them very much. Dooku had no time to placate moody bounty hunters.

He _could_ tell the bounty hunter that his son was alive, but the thought was a dissatisfying one. It could lead to behaviour such as he had exhibited six years ago, which could rearrange events into unexpected paths. Dooku preferred to keep the unexpected to a bare minimum.

Or he could keep the information – and the child – hidden until a later and more vital date. It could prove a useful tool.

Naturally, the Sith Lord decided on this course.

Crisply he ordered the bounty hunter to see to the brat – small chance of discovery, with the child's wraps covering its entire body – and take him to a secure area. He disregarded the bounty hunters' obvious annoyance at being turned into a babysitter and went to prepare for the upcoming interrogation.

It wouldn't do to be late, after all.

* * *

B'brk'ah was scared and tired and mad, in that approximate order. He had quickly decided that the droid guarding him – it _had_ to be a droid, it was covered in metal – wasn't worth trying to speak to, as Anakin and Padmé had remained silent around it, and he thought it would be best if he followed the outlanders' lead. 

He had kept quiet around the other outlander as well, who was wrinkly, with a long face and eyes like blackrock. He didn't like the way the outlander had stared at him, but wasn't about to show the stupid outlander – no way!

Now he was on his own with the droid again and rapidly starting to think that maybe he should have stayed on the silver-gourd... or at least stuck closer to the other droids. Where _were_ the other droids anyway? And Anakin, and Padmé? Had they forgotten him, or decided not to let him tag along anymore? Or were they in as much trouble as he was?

B'brk'ah wasn't sure what was worse.

The big droid – who was starting to scare him a bit – muttered something and stamped off. Not sure what to do, B'brk'ah followed.

More tunnels, almost like the Bantha Burrows, twisted away, one leading to a small room with a bed in the corner and very little else. It was almost like home, but it didn't smell of bantha. Or like anything except rock and metal, and a hint of something sharp that made him think of a white-walled room in a place hazy with memory.

The droid grumbled a few outlander words and pointed at the bed. As if he was going to sleep in a place like this!

It shrugged when he stood his ground and glared at it, before reaching up and pulling off its head.

B'brk'ah stared for a horrified moment, and then started to scream.

* * *

Jango almost shot the little nuisance in shock, before realising it was shaking and staring at his helmet. He looked down, then back at the Tusken, then down again. 

Of course, it had probably thought his helmet was part of his body, or something equally ridiculous. Well, when would it have ever seen a Mandalorian in full armour before? It wasn't as if there was any kicking around the Tatooine deserts.

"Stop that," he snapped at it irritably in Huttese, "it's a helmet. A _mask_. You understand?"

He shook and stared at him in terror, before nodding. He tried to calm it down, mentally cursing Dooku for making him act as the things minder.

"Do you want something to eat? Food, water?"

It shook its head, plainly still scared to death of him and trying desperately not to show it. Jango gave it some credit for courage.

The way it was standing, the way it was tilting its chin up defiantly... it was like the ARCs did, or how his son...

He shook himself a little, now feeling a little riled at the barbarian for bringing back the memories he wanted to forget. Nevertheless, he tried to gentle his voice when he next asked –

"I'm going to be gone for a while. Do you want to come with me?"

Even with the face wraps it managed to convey an expression of utter horror. Despite himself he had to repress a chuckle.

"It won't take long." He hesitated, before shrugging. What did it care?

But he still added, "I'll be back soon."

It just nodded slowly, keeping its distance. Suppressing a slight guilty feeling for spooking the kid – who had probably been brought here unwillingly by that blasted Jedi – he stalked out and closed the door behind him, heading for the audience chamber.

* * *

B'brk'ah tried to calm himself down. It had been a shock to see the droid pull off its own head, an even bigger shock to see it was actually alive. _Another_ outlander! This place was crawling with them. And this one was decidedly odd, making _him_ feel decidedly odd, as though a miniature version of Oh'Sorro'ger had strolled into his head and was kicking the back of his skull to make him take notice. The only trouble was, he didn't know what he was supposed to be noticing. 

This place was so _weird_. Big and weird and full of horrible things, and really a small part of him would have been perfectly happy to go back to the camp and take his chances in the desert now that he had seen what all this was like.

But it was only a _small_ part. The rest of him regarded this, however strange or scary, as an Adventure. And this metal one seemed alright, even if it had snapped at him. It was probably just a bit cold, like he was.

For a while he just sat and jumped up and down on the bed to keep warm, not to mention have a great deal of fun in the process. It was weirdly soft and incredibly bouncy and made him almost feel like he was flying again. Eventually he started to feel sick, and scrambled off, noticing the red dust he had managed to spread over the blankets.

Oops.

He shrugged; he still wasn't entirely convinced the metal-outlander wasn't a droid, so it probably wouldn't care. Or would it? Did droids sleep? Did they have fleshy bits like people? Did they eat anything?

B'brk'ah decided that outlander things were a lot more complicated than he had first thought.

Tired out, he sat down quietly on the floor and took out some of his provisions – a few strips of dried meat and his water flask – before starting to eat hungrily. His stomach growled at him happily.

It wasn't long before sounds outside made him pull up his face wraps hurriedly and stand. Someone was coming.

* * *

Well the Jedi and that senator wouldn't be a problem much longer. The execution had been scheduled for less than an hour away – less than an hour too long, but then the beasts probably needed livening up. 

The first thing Jango noticed as he came through the door was the Tusken child backing away with a slightly nervous look, almost like a puppy that had made a damp patch on the carpet. The next thing he noticed was the sand.

"Shit!"

It flinched, looking more puppy-like than ever. The bounty hunter tried to calm down. It wasn't as if he was going to be sleeping on the bunk again after this.

He held out his hands towards the Tusken in a calming gesture. It backed away even more.

"I'm not angry with you –" _much_, he added silently, "– I was just a bit... oh damn, stop shaking, I'm not going to _eat_ you..."

It halted, but it didn't stop shaking. It occurred to him that it was probably cold. Geonosis had a lower temperature than Tatooine, and the caves were designed to let the heat _out_.

He pulled one of the sandy blankets off the bed and draped it around the child, almost smothering it, and making it grunt as weight bore it down and it peered out through the folds owlishly. The whole effect was that of a reddish tent with eye tubes.

He was glad the helmet hid his smile – the Tusken would probably think he really _was_ going to eat it. He shook his head and muttered in Huttese, "What a damn kid is doing in here..."

"Mama dead."

He started and looked at it, surprised it had spoken and especially surprised at its voice. Damn thing sounded as harsh as a Corellian dockhand, but recognisably sentient and young.

"What?"

"Mama dead. With clan. All gone."

Jango blinked, now even more grateful he was wearing a helmet. _Oh yeah, I know that tune._

"And the Jedi found you?"

"Jedi-outlander there, took me to metal-gourd, came here. For master." It snuffled slightly. "Too cold here. Full of monsters."

_In more ways than one_, Jango noted. "Well just stay with me and I will make sure the monsters don't get you, alright?"

It nodded, trusting him completely, and adjusted its gaderafi. He tried to think of something to say, ignoring the small cold voice inside his head.

It whispered:_ you didn't do so well_ last _time..._

"Shut up," he muttered, before he realised he had said it out loud.

The Tusken tilted its head, and he felt spooked. That was _exactly_ the same way the ARCs...

"We go now?"

Nah, he was being stupid. It was probably just something that all children did.

Jango nodded.

"Follow me."


	17. Chapter 17

B'brk'ah followed. He didn't see that he had much choice.

The blanket was heavy, but comforting, reminding him of the clan _urtya_. It even smelled of sand, although the sand itself smelt strange and wrong, not like the sand at home.

It made him wonder. All of these rock-balls... did they have different sand to his rock-ball? On his sand was yellow and scorching, but here it was red and sort of musty-smelling. Would the next on have pink sand? Or maybe blue? He would like to see blue sand.

The red musty-smelling sand was less evident in the tunnels around this area, the floor swept clean by countless feet and labour. There was a largish cave at the end, with the wrinkly, long-faced outlander with the blackrock eyes, along with two tall outlanders with grey faces and a creature like the horrible monsters, but with fleshy lip tendrils. The last three regarded him with an air of surprise, before Wrinkly spoke and made them turn back to it.

It wasn't lost on B'brk'ah that the metal-outlander had shifted weight, so that it was between him and the others. Maybe it just didn't want them snatching its prey.

All the same, he was grateful. He didn't like the look of these new ones, and at least the metal-outlander had _tried_ to be nice, or as nice as outlanders ever were. He wondered what had happened to Anakin and Padmé, whether they had found their teacher or whether they were as bored as he was.

The blanket was warm, and the travel on the ship and chase had made him tired. His head started to nod without him even knowing.

* * *

The first Jango knew of this was a slight weight pressing down his armour, making him look down. The Tusken was almost asleep standing up, and had started to lean against his shoulder. Luckily the blanket hid most of the effect. 

He tried to wriggle his arm in an effort to wake it. No luck.

_Wake up, damn it! I'm not a pillow!_

It moved and pressed harder against his arm, face wraps and blanket acting as a cushion. If he tried to wriggle further the creature would probably end up on the floor.

Despite a strong temptation to act otherwise, he remained still. It wasn't doing anything or saying anything, which could only be to the good, and he had had worse things done to him than being used as a headrest by a barbarian creature from a desert backwater.

Dooku finished pacifying the crawling little Trade Federation officials, and followed Archduke Poggle out to the execution arena private terrace. Jango waited for the rest to move out far enough away, before he shook the Tusken slightly.

"Time to wake up, kid."

It mumbled something in the harsh Tusken language and stood up straight, if sleepily. Then it started over to the balcony with him, tent dragging behind it.

* * *

B'brk'ah's first thought was _monsters!_ Thousands of them, outnumbering the sand grains in the desert, and all seated in hundreds of tiers in a bowl of rock that he was high up in, so high up he felt dizzy just looking. Some still fluttered like scraps of cloth in a storm, wings flashing back the light as they settled into place. 

At the bottom were four pillars in sand a more home-like shade of yellow-orange. Three were occupied by outlanders standing tied to them. He frowned in puzzlement.

Outlanders did the weirdest things.

He looked more closely at them. The nearest to them had a man in white outlander-robes and that disgusting fuzzy-stuff they grew on their chins sometimes. Yuck.

The one next to him was dressed in darker clothing, brown and black, and he looked familiar...

B'brk'ah gave a gasp drowned out in the cheers of the monsters. That was Anakin! And the outlander Padmé next to him! So the other one must be the master they were trying to rescue...

He started to get a very bad feeling about what was going on, and tugged at the metal-outlanders arm.

"What happen?"

It looked down as the monster in the stand waved an arm and clicked. "Watch."

B'brk'ah did so.

At the edge of the rock bowl caves were opening up, and things were coming out. Big and red, green, furred and spiky, they roared and shrieked and growled as they were prodded forward. Three of them. One for each outlander.

The bad feeling got worse.

They were prodded towards the outlanders, and one of them – Padmé – was climbing up her pillar, while the other two just faced the monsters coming towards them with an air of tension. The green one lunged at the white-robed outlander, swinging one huge green limb at its head. B'brk'ah started forward, only to be grabbed by the metal-outlander.

"They gonna eat them!"

"Of course." The metal-outlander didn't seem very concerned. On the contrary, he sounded _pleased_.

The big reddish thing was charging towards Anakin, and the uli'ah shrieked. But the Jedi-outlander jumped up and landed like the best Ghorfa rider in the tribe on its back, swinging his chain around its horn. B'brk'ah felt his eyes widen at his daring, his pure nerve.

His mate was doing less well, the spiky-furred creature was climbing up towards her, and B'brk'ah heard a faint scream, echoed by a chuckle from one of the grey faces.

Stupid grey faces! This was horrid... worse than any bloodrite. The grey faces weren't even killing the nice outlanders themselves; they were letting monsters do it for them!

He wriggled out of the blanket – and the metal-outlanders grip – and went up to the rim of the balcony by the monster with the lip tendrils, ignoring it in his haste to see what was happening. The metal-outlander dragged him back as the height made him dizzy.

"Stay away from the edge!"

He squirmed free and confronted it. "This wrong! They nice outlanders! Can't just get _eaten_!"

"They were found guilty of spying, and this is their punishment." It sounded as calm and cold as the face of the moon Chenini. B'brk'ah didn't understand. Everyone spied. His _father_ had been a spy. You didn't get put in rock bowls for spying!

"It wrong! I gonna help them!"

"Oh no you... _stop_!"

He ducked past its grabbing hand and ran back down the tunnel, hearing it start after him. A sharp word from the long-faced outlander stopped it.

B'brk'ah didn't care. He was going to rescue the outlanders. He was going to fight the monsters. He didn't know how or where he should go, but he was going to do it.

He wasn't about to loose them as well!

* * *

"Bounty hunter!" 

Jango spun at the tunnel mouth, almost snarling in his worry and haste. "He's going to try and –"

"Do you think he will succeed?"

"He could get hurt..." Jango trailed off, realising what he was saying. Why the hell did he care about some Tusken kid?

"It is my wish that you stay here."

Distantly he heard Nute Gunray objecting to something below, but from far away. Dooku _wished_ it, did he?

The Sith held his eye. "Stay."

_Stay_. Like some sort of guard animal. He felt his hand edge down to his remaining pistol, envisioned the bolt tearing through this arrogant Sith's face...

But no. Dooku wasn't so easily killed, and if he didn't die immediately... Jango would. No good would come of it.

Dooku smiled and gestured back at the stand. "I believe you wanted to watch the Jedi die?"

Jango clenched his jaw, but went back to his place. But he wasn't seeing the show below him.

All he could see was a little rag-wrapped figure running through the caves under his feet.

* * *

Thumps and bangs from above made the tunnel shake, but B'brk'ah ignored them. Yells and clicking noises from the monsters filtered through the rock, and he hoped that meant the outlanders were still fighting. He had to _save_ them... 

But he was small and a little lost and he wasn't sure if he was going the right way. And the feeling that he might have acted a little hastily was starting to worm through his heart.

The uli'ah gritted his teeth stubbornly. Was it any worse than watching the outlanders die?

_So what? _The voice was a Ghorfa voice, and it whispered nastily. _They are just outlanders. Why save them? _

_They are all I have left_, he told himself. The outlanders were the only ones who might look after him. And... Anakin had lost his mother as well. There was a kinship there, sort of. In a weird way.

More hisses, and clicks, but the hisses were like sand lightning and the clicks sounded a bit... dismayed. He brightened up. Anything that dismayed the monsters _had_ to be good, didn't they?

The small tunnel he was running down connected suddenly with a bigger one, with footprints on the floor. _Footprints_, not scrape marks from the monsters. Outlanders had come this way.

He followed them warily, clutching his gaderafi and checking Bandy was still in place. The hisses were louder now and...

_Bang!_

He jumped and shrieked in alarm. Those were blasters, but noisier, a hundred times noisier, like the biggest raid ever! He started to run up the tunnel, and gasped in shock as he reached the end – where, if only he knew, his outlander friends had been only minutes ago professing undying love for each other – as he saw the maelstrom beyond it.

Hundreds of bars of demon-fire, _thousands_, were being swung at droids – not nice, harmless droids like Threepio or Artoo, but killing droids, droids that spat red fire at the demons, felling some or being felled in turn, and there were monsters as well that were hurling balls of green stuff across the place that shattered pillars and threw back demons like sand in the wind. The shock of noise and light was so much that he forgot all thoughts of rescue

He crouched in place, not daring to move. Demons _here_, all killer night demons but...

One ran past and he _saw_.

It was an outlander.

The surprise was so great he cried out.

An _outlander_.

Outlanders could harness demon-magic, killing magic! They were slaughtering the droids as well as any Ghorfa; even as he watched one jumped and kicked with both legs, felling two at once.

He cowered down, afraid. What if they noticed him, a small Ghorfa child, and decided that they liked to kill Ghorfa more than droids?

But then he saw Anakin and his mate, riding a travois behind a drawing-beast. They were clinging on for dear life, Padmé shooting red flames from her outlander weapon and her mate wielding and incandescent blade of... of...

Demon-fire.

Who _was_ this outlander?

B'brk'ah stared, but the fire was green not blue, and he was reassured. His friend must be very powerful, almost a wizard! He would be a good person to follow, he could look after B'brk'ah well with all that power.

But for all his strength he still looked like he was in trouble, so the uli'ah gripped his gaderafi in sweat-soaked gloves, and charged.

The battle enveloped him, making him cower almost by reflex. He ran blindly, keeping low to avoid the bolts, tripping and falling and getting up again, now concentrating solely on avoiding certain death, forgetting his idea to rescue the outlanders...

The outlanders! Where were they?

He looked around, screeching and ducking as red fire flew over his head. He couldn't see them... he couldn't see anything...

He kept running.

* * *

The Jedi fell like a stone, straight downwards, and Jango holstered his pistol with a wolfish grin. Looks like he hadn't lost his touch. 

One down, only a few hundred or so to go...

He saw another one – the same basterd that had threatened him with its blasted purple lightsaber, not one he'd forget in a hurry – on the run from the reek, and was about to jump down to dispose of the arrogant Force-user when he saw something that made his heart stop.

_That damn Tusken!_

It looked as though the sheer chaos of the battle had disorientated it, as it ran hither and thither, dodging bolts by sheer luck, and diving out of the way of Jedi too caught up in the battle to help it, or even look.

What was it _doing_? A battle was no place for a child!

He smacked his jetpack activator, ignoring Dooku's sudden command, and screeched down to the arena floor to the Tusken. Maybe he could take it somewhere safe... the Jedi could wait... he wasn't about to fail _another_ child...

The reek roared, and he saw one of its horns fall away in a flash of purple. It saw the little ragged figure, bellowed its hurt and rage, and charged.

Jango didn't even stop to think. He dived for the Tusken, now frozen in terror at the sight of the monster charging towards it, holding up its gaderafi as a shield...

It screamed as he pushed it away, and the reek trampled over him.

* * *

B'brk'ah felt a knock to his side, and a moment of utter dizziness as sky and sand spun into each other and blurred in his vision. A bellow made him jump up and run, before he realised what must have happened and looked back. 

The metal outlander was under the feet of the reddish monster, rolling as it ran over the top of him. Finally it was ahead and the metal-outlander got up, sparks leaking from the shiny pack on its back.

The monster turned, pawed the ground, and charged again.

B'brk'ah was too scared to move, but luckily the outlander was not. He threw up its arm in a firing position, and let rip a bolt of red light from its weapon and diving aside.

The monster dropped to the ground, making the very earth shudder.

B'brk'ah let loose a cheer, and the metal-outlander turned to face him. He ran across to it.

The uli'ah didn't even stop to contemplate what he was doing, but grabbed it around the waist in a fierce hug.

"Thank you thank you thank you..."

It peeled him off, muttering something in outlander-speech, but he didn't care. It had saved his life!

"What are you _doing_ here?" it finally demanded in Huttese.

"The outlander-Jedi, his mate, they here..."

"Mate?" It sounded confused, but recovered itself. "It's far too dangerous here! You could be _killed_!"

"Not ever." He gazed up at it admiringly, seeing again how it had just stood there and taken down the monster – just like that! "Not with you!"

He quietened, as if stunned. He picked up is gaderafi and waved it.

"We go kill some droids and rescue the outlander-Jedi! And Padmé!"

It stopped. "No. You are going back somewhere _safe_."

"Then you get them? You go?"

It looked around, and seemed to be struggling with itself. "I..."

Then something seemed to catch its eye and it shouted something B'brk'ah didn't understand, picking him up and throwing him. The uli'ah flew through the air and landed with a thump behind the corpse of the monster, momentarily stunned.

The strange sound of the metal-outlanders weapon ripped through the noise of the battle, and it was mixed with something that made his heart stop.

Demon-flame.

One of the outlanders must be out there.

* * *

The bounty hunter had seen the Jedi running towards them just in time and thrown the Tusken child to safety. With any luck it would be to stunned or terrified to move, would keep out of the way until he had dealt with this irritating Force-user. 

He swung his pistol up and blasted at the Jedi, watching the purple lightsaber intercept his bolts with ease. Damn the blasted bastard, why did he have to do this _now_? Was it too much to ask for the arrogant, parasitical, murdering worrt to _wait_ for him to take the kid to safety?

But it didn't look as though the Jedi would listen to him, let alone wait for him to come back and pick up this fight, so he kept on blasting, starting to step backwards as the man drew closer, and closer, his face lit with purple light.

It didn't look as though the blaster was doing anything productive.

That wasn't good. Up close that lightsaber might prove to be a problem. It wouldn't cut through Mandalorian armour, but there were certain parts of his body that were unprotected – like the gap between his chestplate and helmet – and there were things he would rather not lose.

His head for a start.

Jango fired and fired, seeking and not finding a weak point in the Jedi's defence, starting to realise quite rapidly that he might have done something very stupid.

* * *

Mace Windu had thought the rescue would be fairly simple. How very wrong he was. 

The swarm of droids were entirely unexpected, and had turned this simple retrieval mission to something that was starting to become a full-scale battle. No, not _starting_.

It _was_ a battle.

Jedi he had taught, learned under, talked with, trained with, laughed with, or argued with were now being cut down in dozens. In _droves_. And all because of Dooku, a man he had once told the very senator he had come to rescue was incapable of murder.

Wrong again.

So now his comrades and friends were dieing around him, and he knew deep in his gut that it was _all his fault_. That all of this – this fighting and dieing and blood – was down to _him_, that those friends and comrades were dead because of _his_ mistake. But he kept on fighting, because to dwell on that now would be to die with them.

Not only that... the man in front of him was a murderer. A bounty hunter. A ruthless killer, and one who had killed one Jedi already, shooting Coleman Trebor from Dooku's balcony without a qualm.

He needed stopping. He needed _taking down_.

Mace Windu was happy to oblige.

But... something had happened, something he hadn't quite believed when he had seen it. Something so mind-boggling, so astounding, that Mace Windu had stopped and frozen in the midst of the chaos around him and stared in shock.

This murderer, this bounty hunter, this ruthless killer... had saved the life of a child.

Had dived in front of a rampaging reek to push it out of the way; a child that Windu had seen with astonishment resembled the children of Tatooine Tusken Raiders. So not even a _human_ child.

And the bounty hunter had put himself in considerable danger to save it.

What's more, that child afterwards had been _very_ happy to see him. Probably natural, considering what had happened, but the way it had run to the assassin and hugged him with the simple joy of children everywhere had made Mace Windu watch for a moment in utter astonishment.

But then the bounty hunter had seen him and started to shoot, and he now had to fight this murderer, this bounty hunter, this ruthless killer. This saver of children.

Mace Windu had a talent. He could see shatterpoints.

Shatterpoints were a complex Force phenomenon, perceivable only by an unknown innate talent or immense focus and concentration on the part of the Force-user. They were perceived like faults in a Corusca gem, a single 'strike' could cause events to transpire completely differently than they might otherwise have done. Often, they existed for only brief moments. For most the required a lifetime of study to sense.

Mace Windu could see them with comparative ease, and now he reached into the Force to see this one.

The battlefield froze, locked in the amber of the Force. It only happened for a second or so of real time, but it was long enough for the Jedi Master to see what he could so here, which way he should strike to bring this bounty hunter down. All he had to do was decide. To _choose_.

_To be a Jedi is to choose. _

So said Master Yoda. The fellow Council member knew he had a choice here, one that could shape the course of things to come. Maybe not the war, because that was bigger than one mercenary-for-hire, but certainly the lives of several beings, maybe even himself.

Reality snapped back, and he could see the man backing away, still firing, refusing to give up. Mace Windu knew what to do.

He reached the bounty hunter. The lightsaber swung.

* * *

_Damn_

Jango saw as his pistol was disposed of in a single swipe of flame. Blast, blast, _blast_. There was no time to use his flamethrower or darts, no time to bring out a vibroknife, no time to even catch the damn Jedi in a choke hold. He was weaponless and temporarily – oh he _hoped_ it was temporarily – helpless.

It was not a pleasant feeling.

He backed up a few steps as fast as the lightsaber itself, trying to think what to do. The jetpack. Up in the air what could the Jedi do to him?

He smacked the activator, ready to fly above the arrogant beings' head.

There was a cough, and a cloud of white steam scorched his legs.

_Oh. Oh, that's bad. _

He watched as if in a dream as the Jedi recovered from his swing at readied himself for one last strike, eyes gleaming. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. He was about to die. He had less than twenty seconds to live.

_No, no, not now, not like this..._

It couldn't be here, not now. Not by a Jedi's hand. It was too... too _unfair_.

Why should the Jedi defeat the last of the Mandalorians?

Why did they have to _win_?

He saw as the lightsaber came up, angled towards him. The child. What would the child do? He would be alone, scared, lost. He might even be killed...

Darkness clouded his vision, as deep as despair. _I failed him. I failed him as well. _

Purple light filled his vision, and then there was nothing at all.

* * *

B'brk'ah crawled from around the dead monster, shaking and wondering what was happening. 

The metal-outlanders weapon was still firing, but it was almost desperate, and he could see as it was driven back by the demon-flame wielder whose face was lit with an amethyst glow.

The uli'ah tripped and fell flat, yelping as his mask hit the sand. There was a screaming noise like metal being tortured by the suns' heat, and flash-bang explosion that made his head hurt. He tried to get up, to help...

Another series of noises followed. One was a coughing sound, a splutter almost lost in the battlefield noise, and then a screech-hiss of the demon-flame. And a thump.

He scrambled around the corpse, heart pounding painfully, just in time to see the helmet roll away into the sand.


	18. Chapter 18

A ghost – perhaps one of the Jedi killed in the bloodbath below, delaying its journey to see how its comrades were doing – would have been able to look down in the cauldron of the execution arena, see how gradually the numbers of its friends were being whittled away, how while each Jedi took down a dozen droids there were always more coming, always another to take its place.

That ghost would have looked down into the chaos, as the departed rose around it to the stars, and would have mourned what had happened. Not for the death, because for a Jedi there is no death. There was only the Force. At least, not for the death of the living.

No, it would have mourned for the death of something else. Of the dream that Jedi were invincible together, that if they only kept to the Code and worked together they could surpass any odds, defeat any foe. That Good would always triumph over Evil.

And for the little Tusken child, who was screaming and screaming and clutching at a collapsed body in the sand, as a Jedi Master looked on with the dawning feeling that he might have made an error of judgement.

The ghost would have noticed how while the child crouched over the body the Jedi Master in question stood over it, deflecting back blasterfire and protecting it from harm, because he was a Jedi and Jedi protected children. Always.

They did it just as well as bounty hunters.

* * *

Mace Windu spun and danced through the storm of fire, careful to keep himself near the child, and the body at his feet that it absolutely would _not_ leave. Things were heating up. 

A lull let him catch his breath, and he made sure it was all right. It was, if a little grimy from the dust and sand, its robes tattered and torn by its frequent rolls in the dirt. It was still shaking the sprawling body, screaming things that Mace did not understand the words of, but found the meaning perfectly clear.

It was cry that children will wail everywhere, when their protector is gone. _Don't go, don't leave, come back, I'm scared, _help _me... _

He looked down at the bounty himself. Still out cold.

He wondered, as he whirled to face a sneaking droid, whether he had done the right thing. It would have been easy enough to kill the bounty hunter right then and there, but something had stopped him. Maybe it was the saving of the child, maybe it was the way he had refused to back down in the face of certain death, maybe it was just the fact that, as the lightsaber arched towards his neck, his mind had been filled with sorrow and regret so strong that Mace had practically _tasted_ it...

So instead of the blade scoring between the rim of the helmet and chestplate, it had whirled back as its owner threw out a hand and gave a very short, sharp _push_.

There were two types of Force Push. One was a concussive burst of pressurized air that would blow a target with enough force to knock it over, or launch it into the air.

The other was smaller and more concentrated; a sharp spike of pure energy that would hit an object or opponent with the stopping power of a well-placed forty pound hammer. Such was the one that Mace Windu had used.

The bounty hunter would be alright, he decided. At worst he would wake up soon with a splitting headache and an elevated respect for Jedi abilities, something that Mace was always happy to install in people.

He turned and went to deflect another bolt, but it never came. He stared, before sweeping the arena with wary eyes. All around him battle droids were deactivating, Jedi were lowering their lightsabers and Geonosians were exiting the arena or making for the few scattered pockets of resistance. A pair was coming over to him.

A truce, then. Dooku would probably want to discuss surrender terms.

Mace scowled as the insectoids drew nearer. He had his own feelings about surrendering, but any time when the Jedi were not getting shot was a good one. They stood in front of him and gestured – politely – at the centre of the arena, where a mass of survivors was gathering. He started to go with them when a sound made him turn.

The Tusken child was still by the bounty hunter, and when Mace signalled impatiently for it to join him it shook its head with venom and clung on tighter the unconscious mans' hand. It wasn't going _anywhere_ without him.

Mace swore with feeling and frustration for a full minute, before snapping at the Geonosians to bring the bounty hunter as well. Puzzled, but in awe of him – and with a healthy respect for his still-lit lightsaber – they complied. The Tusken ran away from them, and he thought he would have to give chase, but it came back almost at once holding the bounty hunters' lost helmet.

Mace stamped to the circle of task force remnant as they drew the bounty hunter behind him, wondering how in the galaxy he had gotten into this situation.

* * *

B'brk'ah hadn't been happy to have the monsters pawing around the metal-outlander whose face made him feel so strange, but they hadn't hurt him before so he figured they were probably not going to start now. He wasn't so sure about the outlander with the purple demon-flame, however. 

The rest were all there, along with – he cried out to see – Anakin and Padmé. Forgetting for a moment the metal-outlander he raced towards them, relieved that they had survived the battle.

Anakin looked down in puzzlement, then shock. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Why was everyone asking him that lately?

A voice boomed out across the arena, and the uli'ah looked up. Long-face was up on the balcony, and he was shouting something down to the demon-flame-wielding outlanders. B'brk'ah couldn't recognize a word, and wouldn't have understood if he had, as Tuskens had no way of saying _surrender_. It was plain he was trying to order them about, however, but the purple-demon-flame outlander shouted something back defiantly. Long-face said something sad.

The droids clicked back into place, and B'brk'ah felt everyone tense. He gripped his gaderafi, the gaderafi of his mother, and swore that if this was going to be his final resting place, he would take some of them down with him.

There a moment of breathless hush, the calm before the storm.

Padmé looked up and shouted.

B'brk'ah looked up as well, and almost dishonoured his ancestors by losing water. _Things_ were hanging in the sky, great metal flying _things_, and they were swooping down on the outlanders and him like urusai on a dead eopie. B'brk'ah shrieked with alarm and dived for cover.

Around him the demon-flames were flashing and red blaster bolts were flying everywhere. He ran and dodged them, smacking a distracted droid out of his way. All around the flying things were settling, snarling out green fire of their own to slag the droids. He saw this and cheered.

Backup!

They landed, and spilled armoured outlanders, like the metal outlander but with pure white coverings. He wasn't entirely sure if they were droids or just friends of the metal-outlander, but he didn't care. They were help.

The metal-outlander! B'brk'ah looked around wildly, wondering where it had got to. Of course, it was injured and helpless, he _had_ to find it!

_There_, near the purple-flame, still limp and unknowing. He sprinted for them, seeing everyone living running for the ships. The purple-flame saw him as he drew near, and shouted something aimed behind him.

A pair of green hands picked him up and ran, as he kicked and hollered, seeing the crumpled body of the metal-outlander slip away from him. He only quieted when purple-flame saw his distress and shouted orders to a pair of the white-armoured probably-not-droids, who picked up the fallen hunter and carried him as well.

B'brk'ah relaxed, keeping a tight grip on the helmet he was clutching. Its owner would doubtless want it back.

An outlander with white hair pulled in a topknot cresting an abnormally high forehead pulled his carrier on board, waving its blue flame around madly in a dreadful dance. B'brk'ah twisted around to see the metal-outlander brought into the carrier as well, before a feeling of weightlessness made him looked down.

They were flying.

* * *

Jango woke up with a splitting headache and, as his attacker would have been gratified to learn, an elevated respect for Jedi abilities. But mostly a headache. Not to mention a nasty sick feeling in his throat, and the impression that the floor was swaying under him. He opened his eyes and looked around, and realised that there was a good reason for that. 

He was flying.

He looked around, saw the Jedi and clone troopers glaring down at him, and froze. No he wasn't.

He was _dead_.

* * *

Mace Windu felt the moment's utter horror of the bounty hunter with a very un-Jedi like feeling of satisfaction. He turned to check that the Tusken was alright, and was greeted with a similar feeling as it stared at something by his feet. 

He looked down. Master Yoda looked back up.

Ah.

The old Jedi turned to the child, and gave a typical Yoda laugh. "Frighten you, do I, hmmm?" He made a ferocious scowl. "Hmmm!"

The Tusken shrieked like a steam whistle, wriggled, looked up to see Kit Fisto grinning down at it, and shrieked even louder. The bounty hunters' head jerked up, and he looked around to the source of the noise. He would have gone over to the child, if the clone troopers on either side hadn't grabbed his arms and steadied him.

Yoda disregarded them, turning to Mace. "If Dooku escapes, rally more systems to his cause, he will."

Mace nodded as red blasterfire streaked past their open carrying area. Yoda turned to the bounty hunter. "And you, hunter Fett, for what do you care about this child, a bounty hunter for a Tusken? Strange matters, indeed."

The bounty hunter glared down at him. Mace loosened his lightsaber arm. "It's none of your business, Jedi. And who says I do?"

The old Masters' green eyes narrowed and grew as cold as frozen swamp water. "Hide these things from Jedi, you can _not_. Concern you feel for him. Learn we will, hunter Fett, and many more things, in time."

Jango Fett's eyes were just as freezing, but darker. "Not from me."

"A little thing, then, _hmmm_? How came you by the child?"

"It was with the Jedi and the senator." His face was grim, died in a bloody light as a generator exploded behind them. "Apparently they picked it up after its mother died."

Mace caught the slight stab of pain as the bounty hunter uttered those last words. Yoda did not show any surprise. "Answered the question, you have not. How came _you_ by it?"

"I was ordered to take care of it. By Count Dooku."

Yoda gave the bounty hunter a long look, one that would have made even the best of Jedi squirm after a while. Fett didn't move a muscle.

Another ship blew to pieces beside them, shedding metal like leaves. Mace decided to leave them to it, shouting up to the cockpit. "Pilot! Land in that assembly area!"

"Yes sir."

The transport started to swoop down. Yoda broke off the staring contest. "Strange matters, indeed," he murmured again, almost to himself.

The transport landed, and Mace jumped off at once, followed by Ki-Adi-Mundi. Kit Fisto hesitated, looking at Yoda. The Jedi Master nodded and the Nautolan released the Tusken to jump down after his comrades, while his former charge ran straight to Fett. A clone trooper wearing yellow commander colours approached him, and he focused on the job in hand.

Above him the transport lifted off to Master Yoda's orders. "To the forward command centre take me!"

* * *

B'brk'ah felt that if flying involved mad outlanders with demon-fire, small green things that looked like goblins and big green things who looked as though they wanted to _eat_ him, then it was overrated. The motion was making him feel sick and the fright wasn't helping much either, and the explosions were making him jump every second or so. 

Not to mention that Anakin and Padmé had managed to get themselves lost. _Again_.

One of the white-armoured outlanders had taken over the task of holding him, but at least he was nearer the metal-outlander now. It looked dizzy and sore and as dazed as he was feeling, and it wasn't lost on the uli'ah that the white-armoured outlanders were acting much more carefully around it than they were around him. A lot of weaponry was being pointed in its direction. It didn't look very happy about this.

B'brk'ah could sympathise. He wasn't feeling very happy himself.

The flier landed yet again, this time by a metal platform in the shape of a ring, and with a jolt that almost made him loose his meal. Everyone turned to the entrance. A yellow-trimmed white armoured outlander spoke with the green thing, pointing away and to its left. The green thing nodded and started to walk off, tapping its wooden stick.

The others piled out after it, B'brk'ah very careful to keep away from it, and close to the metal-outlander. No knowing what the goblin was going to try, after all. The armoured beings hustled them both to the back of the metal ring.

For a while both of them were forgotten, as the troops of the Republic drove back the droids of the Confederacy, leaving nothing but the dead behind them.

* * *

This is the Battle of Geonosis: 

Droid and clone armies confront one another in a complex series of engagements on a number of different fronts on the ground, while from the air, the Republic constructed bombardment of the Separatists' fighter craft, allowing the Republic's gunships to have air superiority throughout much of the battle, giving the clone forces a crucial advantage.

The Jedi Master then ordered the army's artillery to attempt to take down as many of the heavily armoured Trade Federation Ships as possible, while in space the Republic fleet intercepted and destroyed the Separatist ships. The Republic was successful in this but despite taking control of the surface of the planet, they were unable to capture the Separatist leadership and stop the war before it began

The final blow to the Separatists would come from particular squad of elite commandos, who managed to infiltrate and destroy an underground droid factory and a Federation Coreship, and steal the escape coordinates for the Confederacy fleet, thus allowing the Republic artillery and fleet to destroy the CIS ships.

The droid army was in full retreat when a whisper of the Force made the general overseeing all this order a ship to be brought to him.

* * *

B'brk'ah understood nothing of this. All he knew was that the light flashes and the noise increased, that at one point there was an awful detonation as a metal sphere as big as moon crashed into the ground, and that he really would like to go somewhere where the elements hadn't taken it into their heads to fight one another. If he hadn't seen the white-armoured men scattered around the terrain, he would have though the spirits themselves were fighting. 

As it was he crouched down and tried not to look, as he knew the sights he might see would disturb him greatly. The green thing seemed to take pity on him, but he ignored it as well, sticking so close to the metal-outlander that he might as well have been one of the smears of char on its armour.

He hoped that Anakin and Padmé were ok.

* * *

Jango could feel the little Tusken shaking through his armour, and he knew how frightened it must be. Making triply sure that the old Jedi wasn't looking, he put a careful arm around it and held it close. It looked up at him gratefully, before hiding its mask again. 

The bounty hunter felt confused, as the Jedi departed in its ship for who-knew-where, and he was left alone with the squad of troopers still guarding them both. He could fight them. It would be easy. His armour carried enough weapons to take down twice their number, and it was strong enough to protect him from anything but a point-blank hit from a turbolaser cannon. A blaster bolt would be _nothing_. He could win such a battle, or at least survive it...

But the Tusken would not.

If he fought chances were that at least one of those bolts would hit it, or it would panic and run into the fire, perhaps in the path of one of his own spurts of flame or vibroknife strikes...

_Why care?_

The voice was as cold as space, and its frost pierced through the clouding dizziness and nausea from the attack in the arena.

_Why worry for a child, one not even human?_

It almost sounded like that old Jedi.

_For what do you care about this child, a bounty hunter for a Tusken? Strange matters, indeed._

It had a point. He was a bounty hunter, not a Jedi; no-one would be particularly surprised if he let it get killed, even by accident. They probably thought he would get rid of it himself, given half the chance – slit its throat or blast it, dump the body, walk away without a second thought.

_And that's why I don't. _

Because unlike the accursed Jedi, he had his own code of honour. He didn't kill children, especially not orphans, even if they were from a different race. He was a Mandalorian, not a murderer. He didn't have to conform by their ideas. There would be other times, safer times.

The clones spoke quietly amongst themselves, and then turned. He straightened.

Something was happening.

* * *

B'brk'ah didn't object when they were bundled aboard yet another flier, sensing that the battle appeared to be over. The noise was dieing down, there hadn't been any big explosions for a while, and more flyers were appearing in the skies, apparently to pick up everyone who wasn't needed down below. B'brk'ah thought that he was one of those. 

The second journey in the carrier was less frightening, mostly because the doors were shut so he couldn't see outside, but also because the metal-outlander was holding his hand tightly. Somehow this seemed very right.

When the doors opened he saw a wide metal room, big enough to swallow tens and tens of the carriers now starting to crowd the area. He saw the group of beings coming towards them, and frowned mightily. The metal-outlander followed his stare and made a disgusted noise. More demon-flame wielding outlanders.

He snorted in repugnance, and the metal-outlander gave a slight chuckle. B'brk'ah looked up and made an interrogative noise, asking what they should do. The metal-outlander made a calming motion, and he subsided. He didn't stop gripping his gaderafi though.

The outlanders reached them. One was the purple-flame wielder, which sparked another disgusted noise from his new friend. There were others he recognised, and a few more he didn't. All had their flames lit and ready.

B'brk'ah got another bad feeling, even worse than last time. They might be in trouble.

* * *

If not for the small hand gripping his, Jango might have leapt at the Jedi without a second thought. He would have died, of course, but he would have gone down fighting, not a prisoner. Things hadn't turned out too well the _last_ time he had been taken prisoner by Jedi. 

But the kid was still here and he was still a Mandalorian, so he kept still as the Jedi approached, shooting nothing worse at them than a nasty look. His attacker halted in front of him, lightsaber at the ready.

"You are under arrest."

Jango gave the rest of the group a glance. "You don't say."

"You are charged to come with us quietly. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if –"

_Who does he think he is? A CSF policeman?_ Jango jumped down lightly, ignoring the yelp and thump of the Tusken jumping down beside him. "I've heard it before, Jedi, save your breath. What happens to the kid?"

A Mirialan Jedi came forward. "We will look after him. Rest assured he will not be hurt."

Her older companion frowned at her, before turning back to his captive. "Drop your weapons. All of them."

"That could take some time," was the slightly sardonic reply.

"Just do it."

Jango looked around. _No choice. Damn. _He removed his bracers, putting them down carefully. The Jedi didn't stir.

"And the kneepads."

_Double damn._ He removed those as well. The pile of armoury was scooped up by a Zabrak Master, who stepped back hurriedly. The female Mirialan gave the Tusken an encouraging gesture.

"It's alright little one, we won't hurt you."

It plainly didn't believe a word, and backed off. Jango touched its shoulder to make it look up, proud that it had the sense not to trust a Jedi but knowing that they wouldn't harm a child, and that it would be safer with them. Not to mention more comfortable. It gave him a hurt look, before sighing audibly and going to the Jedi. It didn't go any nearer than it had to, though.

The leader was about to snap stun cuffs around Jango's wrists when a shout echoed down the holding bay.

* * *

B'brk'ah looked around and whooped with sheer delight, running towards the white-clad figure whose clothes were somewhat worse for wear. Padmé hugged him close despite the gaderafi and helmet, and demanded something in the outlander language. The demon-flame wielders made annoyed noises, one shouting at her. She shouted back. 

Another argument ensued, this one between Padmé and the tall scary purple-flame outlander, but B'brk'ah wasn't worried. Padmé _always_ won her arguments. They were helped by the white-robe outlander with the fuzz on his face, who had followed her and made conciliatory noises at purple-flame, who didn't look pleased. B'brk'ah stuck out his tongue behind his mask at it, happy that it was unhappy.

Finally Padmé won – as he had known she would – and started to lead him away. He was just starting to follow her when his arms gave him a twinge and he looked down.

He was still holding the helmet!

Embarrassed that he had almost walked off with someone else's mask, he ducked and scampered back the metal-outlander, now surrounded by the flamer-wielders. It looked surprised to see him and asked a question he didn't understand as he wriggled through the circle, but he didn't wait to hear, pushing the helmet into his hands before the flame-wielders recovered from their shock and tried to grab him.

He ducked, but one managed to grab hold of his back robes, and he felt something tear away. Free, he ran helter-skelter to Padmé, who started to hustle him away quickly before the flame-wielders could object.

* * *

Jango resisted the urge to laugh as the Tusken got away scot-free, leaving the Jedi looking like a gang of incredibly powerful and idiotic buffoons. The leader, still holding the bundle of rags, dropped it in disgust and turned back to his captive, but not before Jango had lunged and grabbed it. 

The Jedi gave him a glare, which he repaid with a blank look. "I might as well keep it safe for him."

Apparently sensing no danger in the Tuskens' belongings, he did nothing except scowl and finish putting on the stun cuffs. Suppressing a grin, Jango examined his prize as the Jedi discussed in low voices what to do with him. The rags were covering something, a strange shape. Jango peeled back the rags curiously.

He froze.

* * *

Mace Windu noticed the bounty hunters stillness as he argued for him to be taken immediately to Coruscant. Agen Kolar disagreed, saying that the bounty hunter could keep until they had transported the wounded Jedi back, and that since the battle was over he had no immediate use. 

Mace spared the man in question a glance as the Zabrak argued his case. How strange. The thing in his hands almost looked like a toy bantha...

* * *

Jango heard nothing, saw nothing, nothing except the pound of his own heartbeat in his ears and the thing he was holding. The bantha doll was tatty and scuffed, its fur worn away and its hide turned a dingy brown-grey colour, with spots that suggested it had been held and cried over many, many times. 

Numbly, he looked at the hind legs and saw without much surprise the circle of crude stitches. He stroked them gently, remembering how he had sewn those, so long ago, for his... his...

His head shot up, and he saw the child (_the child!_) being led away, almost like last time, going out of his reach...

Jango lunged forward so fast even the Jedi were taken by surprise.

* * *

Obi-Wan looked back, seeing the bounty hunter suddenly appear to go mad, shouting something incoherent, and running, his Jedi guards taken completely off-guard at first but grabbing at him before he could get very far. The Tusken child tried to go back and help, but Padmé kept a tight grip on his gloved hand, saying gently "you can't help him." 

The Master Windu snapped an order to the clone troopers, who took aim as Fett leapt forward again blindly. He shouted something.

"_Stop! _That's –"

A trooper shot a bolt of blue light at the running bounty hunter, making him collapse on the floor. The Tusken shrieked in terror but the Obi-Wan soothed it, trying to make it understand that Fett wasn't hurt, just stunned like before. The human pair led their charge to the private quarters, and safety.

Obi-Wan glanced back at the comatose man with a frown. Why had he reacted like that?

* * *

Jango felt unconsciousness drag him down into darkness, like clinging mud trying to drown him. He tried to fight, but it was hopeless, and eventually it reached up to cover his eyes, his mouth, numbing and blinding. As he sank a whisper that no-one heeded trickled from his mouth with a sigh. 

"My son..."


	19. Chapter 19

On board the assault ship _Fire's Path_, Obi-Wan Kenobi looked at the child before him and repressed a sigh. Senator Amidala was in the medical area visiting Anakin, and so he had been tasked with the care of the small barbarian, especially since he had already raised one obstinate and unruly person from childhood.

He frowned without realising. His Padawan and the senator seemed to be getting along rather well. Perhaps _too_ well. But he comforted himself that at least the medical area would be full of Jedi, who would see to it that nothing... untoward happened.

His attention snapped back the Tusken, who hadn't so much as squeaked since the bounty hunter had been stunned in the hanger bay, except when it had reached behind it and realised its pack was missing. Obi-Wan shook off the feeling that he had met the creature before – which was _impossible_ – and tried to think what to do with it.

He sniffed and made an involuntary face. Ah, he could think of at least _one_ thing.

* * *

When Jango came round the headache was still there but the respect for the Jedi's abilities had all but disappeared. 

He stared at the blank, dark ceiling for a moment, before the events of a few hours remembered themselves and came swarming back to boot his synapses back to life. Jango shot up so fast his vision blacked momentarily.

Not that there was anything to see otherwise; just a ten-by-ten room with a hard bunk and nothing else. A faint seam in the wall showed where the door was, but since the room had the nasty look of a prison cell about it, Jango didn't waste any energy seeing if it would open.

He glared at the door for a moment, unable to believe what had happened. Defeated by a Jedi –humiliating. Captured by the Republic – worrying. Shot by one of his blood – infuriating. Finding out his son was alive...

_Wonderful_. If a little belated.

Jango ground his teeth and thought what to do. He couldn't be sure the Tusken was actually his son, not really, not even with the bantha... the _bantha_!

He looked around wildly, and saw to his immense relief that it was on the floor beside the bunk. He picked it up and stared at it, as if willing it to vanish, disappear into thin air like a dream. A dream of his son. But no, as he stared at the doll he knew, just knew, that it was Bandy, his son's, and that the little Tusken who had walked and acted like the ARCs had done so because they were of the same blood...

But if he was, if Boba was still alive and on board... what next?

Jango had a good idea what would happen if he tried to explain this to his captors. Oh, he didn't believe for a moment that the Jedi would _hurt_ his son in any way. They might be arrogant, stupid, and murdering parasites, but they weren't child-killers. But the thought of trying to explain this all to them...

_Oh yes, sorry I didn't mention it before but that Tusken is my son. No, I don't know why he's dressed like that; you see I thought he was dead for the last six years. Why? Oh, a Hutt crimelord kidnapped him and then his ship blew up over Tatooine..._

Of course they could interrogate him and do DNA tests, and even question the Kaminoans, but if they _did_, and it _was_ his son, then what? The chances of them letting him raise Boba were zero to none; in all likelihood his son would be shipped off to an orphanage while he was transferred to some high-security prison in the Outer Rim.

Blast.

Jango reviewed his options. It didn't take long. He didn't have any.

* * *

"Little one, I _promise_ I won't look, I swear by the Force..." 

The Tusken shook his head with such vigour Obi-Wan feared for its health. He tried again, mindful that his Huttese was not at its best.

"Why not?"

"Never take robes off! Bad, bad, _bad_!" It backed up and glared at him, still holding its gaderafi in a threatening manner. "Stupid outlander!"

_Why me_? This had become something of a recurrent question for Obi-Wan in the last ten years, and he felt it especially today. Why him? Why did he have to be the one that spent half an hour explaining how a shower worked to a Tusken Raider, only to find that they had some sort of holy law against taking their robes off?

An idea struck. "You could go in the 'refresher yourself, then pass the robes out to me, so I can wash them. That way I won't see you."

It considered this. He had hinted that a slight change in fragrance might earn him a trip to see Anakin – who the child seemed rather fond of – and it seemed to be weighing up this against the risks of getting caught unmasked by an outlander.

"I do," it said finally, "if you do thing for me."

"What would that be?"

"Big metal-outlander. Wanna see him." It fixed eye tubes on his with a steely glare. "Wanna see him. Or not getting covered in water."

Obi-Wan winced. He could imagine what Master Windu would say to _that_, but really he had no choice. Not unless he wanted to spend the trip in a room smelling of what could only politely be called bantha musk.

"You can."

* * *

_Bored_ was not how Jango would have expected to be if captured by the Republic, but it fit the feeling he was sunk in pretty well. 

He had expected to be interrogated, and had prepared himself for it, but it hadn't happened. Nothing had happened. He had sat and thought what he could do, realised he couldn't do anything, sat around and thought some more, before finally just sitting.

If Jango had been any other bounty hunter he would have been preparing what he was going to tell the Jedi when they came to question him – if they ever did – but the first rule of thumb in his Code was You Did Not Inform On Your Client. You might try to squeeze extra credits out of them, you might play one off against the other, but when the jig was up You Did Not Inform On Your Client. And you especially didn't inform on a Sith Lord who could have you tracked down and murdered with less effort than he might squash a fly.

Of course he could be preparing to do so already, but Jango doubted it. Dooku wasn't a fool; he knew his paid bounty hunter would keep his mouth shut and most likely escape as soon as he could. This was exactly what Jango would have done, if his son didn't happen to be in the hands of the Jedi.

His son. Had Dooku _known_ about his son? He was a Sith after all...

Jango considered this. It was possible, but it didn't really matter right now. It wasn't as if he could ask him.

* * *

B'brk'ah stood in the middle of the shower cubicle, unable to believe he was actually _surrounded_ by water. What was washing the dirt off him would have supplied the whole tribe for at least a week, or just him and his mother for a month... 

His mother. B'brk'ah snuffled slightly as the steam around him condensed on the walls. His mother should be here. Or rather, he should be with _her_, back home, with no outlanders or droids around, just Pateesa and Loca and the clan banthas and the suns. There were no suns here. No banthas either, not since he had lost Bandy.

He grabbed the waxy white stuff on the floor, trying not to think about it. His mother was dead and so was Loca, and maybe Pateesa as well. In any case he wouldn't be seeing them again soon, maybe not ever.

The white stuff smelt sharp, and he rubbed it experimentally. The fuzzy-face outlander had said it would make bubbles, and sure enough white foam started to appear on his arm, leaving it tender and pinkish.

He rubbed a few more times, before giving up and letting it drop. Hair plastered around his face like another mask, he got out of the shower, tried to remember how to turn the water off, forgot, and waited until the door slid open a crack and his old robes were pushed through. They smelt like the white waxy stuff, all sharp and caustic, and they seemed to have gotten several shades lighter. He pulled them on anyway because the place was freezing, even with all the warm water floating about.

Securing his mask in place he went outside, where fuzzy-face was waiting. Without preamble he said "I get watered. Now see metal-outlander."

The outlander twisted his face up, but led him out of the metal, sandless room anyway, although not before he had turned off the shower with a sharp bark. They left the steam to curl its fingers around the room, seeking a way out.

* * *

Jango was still sitting when the door opened and a small brown blur with metal eye tubes rushed across the room and hugged his waist with a death-grip. The Jedi outside looked surprised, but didn't stop Jango from hugging the child back instinctively, then with a fierce joy, all doubts gone. 

_This was his son. _

It was so unexpected, and so completely wonderful, that for a moment he was afraid it had all been a dream, the bounty, the fights, the capture, _everything_; that he might wake up on Kamino still bereft of his offspring and any hope for the future. He clung to the little body, refusing to let this happen.

A cough from the Jedi made him loosen his grip and gently peel the boy away, handing him Bandy (to a cry of joy) and asking in Huttese "are you alright? Are they treating you well?"

"They watered me, but I got out good." The Tusken – his son, _Boba_ – lowered his voice surreptitiously and whispered "they all being pretty stupid. You gonna come back with us?"

Oh stars, how did you explain that you were a POW to your long-lost Tusken son? "I can't _adi'ka_," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I'm a prisoner. They won't let me."

"Prisoner? They got you? They gonna..." he broke off and looked vaguely sick. "They gonna do a _G'grc'sna_ on you?"

"A what?" The Jedi was looking one in interest.

"They cut you up; make you be in lot a pain? _G'grc'sna_. Blood for spirits."

Jango winced. The little one had probably struck close to the mark, although it really depended who got the job of interrogating him. Non-Jedi would probably revert to that type of technique.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Maybe not. It depends."

"Won't let them." He squirmed close again, and Jango was happy to allow him. "Will fight them, stupid outlanders. Fight them all. Then we go. But with Padmé and Anakin."

_The cause of this mess_ was all Jango had time to think with a little sarcasm, before footsteps sounded and yet more Jedi appeared. The one with the purple lightsaber was with them, and he wasn't pleased to see the Tusken child snuggled up with the bounty hunter _at all_.

"Kenobi, _what_ are you _thinking_? Get it away from him now!"

The younger Jedi winced and started to pull the child away, but was unable to go any further thanks to the small wrapped foot that connected solidly with his stomach. The breath went of him in a _huff_.

Jango grinned openly, and proudly. His son had a wicked left kick.

Boba clung like a limpet to his father, burying his face mask in the jumpsuit that was all Jango had been left with. The younger Jedi studied them both, before turning to someone out of sight. "Master Yoda, I can't feel any threat to the child. I don't think coercion is going to work."

"Another way we must find, hmmm?" Jango cursed silently as a familiar green shape tapped its way into the doorframe. It turned green-gold eyes on the pair, before looking up at the tall leader. "Jedi we are. For us, coercion always the _last_ way will be."

"Like shit." The words came out before he could stop them, and brought him the undivided and unwelcome attention of everyone present. "Jedi use intimidation when soft words won't get them what they want, the whole galaxy knows that."

"And of intimidation, you know something, _hrmmm_?" Yoda looked at him, and Jango got the uncomfortable feeling he was reading him like a holobook. "But of that we are not here to talk. Of you we wish to speak of."

_Here it comes. _

"Our original objective we keep, as significant now as before this war. The treachery of Count Dooku." He leaned on his stick, looking very old. "Of him you will tell us; and of his followers. To the Temple you will go."

So that was it. Interrogation by Jedi. He knew he should have prepared himself for it, but between thinking about his son and wondering what to do he hadn't really had time...

Of course they couldn't actually torture him, but he knew Jedi would have other methods, more reliable ones.

He remained deadly calm. "And the child?"

Yoda looked at the boy in question, who looked back with his gaderafi at the ready. "Our quarrel, not with children is. Looked after he will be."

The leader cleared his throat, but Yoda shushed him. A smile spread over his ancient face as he turned back to the pair. "Master Windu, concerned he is about the youngling. Wishes to grab him back, take him out of danger, save him!" He gave a snuffling laugh. "In danger think you he is, hm?"

"Not from me."

"Hmm? Not from Jedi either, say we! Care for him we will, in the Temple. Safe, he will be kept."

"I want to see him." Jango's tone was implacable. "To check he is alright. I don't trust Jedi."

Windu snorted as the younger Jedi who had been called by the name Kenobi rolled his eyes. Jango read his feelings in his face. _Master of understatement._

Yoda hadn't moved. "Accept will you our promise, that while in the Temple the child safe, is?"

"No. Jedi spill empty phrases." Windu snorted again, and louder, but was ignored by all parties. "I want proof."

Yoda's tone turned absolutely soft, almost inaudible. "Such care you have, for this child. Wonder at it we must."

He didn't reply.

* * *

Soon afterwards there was a conference in the control centre, of the Jedi Council members plus Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was journeying back with them onboard the cruiser along with most of the Jedi to Coruscant. Most were there, save Depa Billaba, who had remained behind in the Temple, Even Piell, who had been engaged elsewhere and was taking a separate transport, and Eeth Koth and Coleman Trebor... who weren't. 

It was of Coleman Trebor that one of the most respected members, a Korun Master by the name of Mace Windu, was speaking of. Or rather, the circumstances of his death.

"... He is perfectly capable of murder, even of Jedi... the child could be a bounty, or a hostage..."

Obi-Wan thought rather dryly that he had realised that already. "We know. But he is a _prisoner_ now, and... although this may sound illogical... I don't believe he will hurt the child."

The Jedi next to him –a small figure in homespun robes and leaning on a twist of wood, who looked frail unless you could see into the spectrum of the Force and know that in it he was a wellspring of pure light – nodded gravely and curled his ears. "Sensed it also, did you, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, before speaking finally. "Yes."

A Cerean with a white topknot and grave demeanour inclined his head towards them. "What did you sense?"

"That there is a... bond there, between them," Obi-Wan said softly. "He cares for the child, that much is plain."

Mace Windu made an impatient noise. "A bounty hunter? I find it hard to believe. Returning its stuffed animal does not make him a caring person. "

"Doubt the ability of Master Jinn's pupil, do you?"

The pointed question made Mace concede defeat. "But if so what then? What action should we take, if there _is_ a connection?"

"What action do you think we should take?" asked a female human in a Tholoth headdress.

"I would keep them separate, no matter what that bounty hunter wants," Mace Windu said bluntly. "Master Yoda and Kenobi may be mistaken, and if they are we could be placing the child in danger. It isn't worth the _risk_."

Most of the others were nodding, save for two. The smallest of the pair frowned.

"Even if the child, help it could, hmm?"

"Master Yoda, are you really suggesting we use this child as a... a _bargaining_ chip?"

"No! But suggest I do that even among bounty hunters, compassion there can be." Yoda looked at his fellow Council members, and _harrumphed_ at their doubtful expressions. "This care for the child, of the Light it is. Jedi we are. To snuff out that light, the action of Jedi is? _Worse_ than his view of us could we become, through that!"

One by one they dropped their gazes. Obi-Wan smiled at their chagrined expression.

Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the floor, giving a snuffling laugh. "Agree then do you, that see the child he may?"

They all nodded in unison, Mace adding dryly, "As always we bow to your wisdom, Master Yoda."

* * *

And bow they would, thought Obi-Wan as he made his way back to fetch the child in question. Mace Windu had put it perfectly – if you were a Jedi, then sooner or later you _always_ bowed to the wisdom of Master Yoda, although there were exceptions. His late master, for one. 

The Jedi smiled, the bitter grief he still felt, even after ten years, eased by the good memories of his time with Qui-Gon Jinn. In a very real sense Qui-Gon had been his parent as well as his mentor, as Jedi Masters so often were to their Padawans. He had argued with the Council just then not because Yoda thought the same way – although that had been something of a relief, admittedly – but because he knew in his heart of hearts that it would have been what Qui-Gon would have done.

Padmé wasn't there when he arrived, but he wasn't worried. His Padawan had almost recovered from his ordeal on Geonosis, and was probably already escorting her back to Naboo. Although he had been somewhat chary about letting them go off together, the senator had insisted, and he had comforted himself with the thought that Anakin surely couldn't get up to too much mischief in such a short space of time.

Could he?

The door slid back and he entered. The Tusken – apparently disturbed while eating – jumped up and hurriedly turned its face away, pulling up its mask, before facing him pugnaciously.

"What we doing? What happening?" it demanded.

"We are above Coruscant, about to land. You had better get your things."

Obi-Wan was surprised at how calmly the Tusken came with him, even after his clumsy attempts at explaining what they could expect on the planets surface. Its unruffled demeanour was slightly disturbing.

"I ready."

"Alright. Follow me."

It used its gaderafi as a walking stick through the corridors, staring at everything they passed – clone troopers, Jedi, droids, even the lights along the ceiling – until they reached the hanger bay, where an LAAT/I transport was waiting to take them down.

As soon as they stepped inside it yelped with delight, and ran to the shape of a man sat at the back, guarded by four of the Council, Mace Windu among them. Obi-Wan sighed, not entirely surprised. The bounty hunter caught his look and gave him a slight grin, as if reading his thoughts. It wasn't a nice grin.

Yoda _huffed_ and banged his stick on the metal floor, making the transport ring like a bell as it lifted off. Fett went back to conversing with the child in Huttese, punctuated by sniggers from the Tusken and significant looks at the Jedi, Mace in particular.

The Korun scowled mightily but kept his peace. Obi-Wan studied the floor carefully and tried not to smile.

* * *

B'brk'ah wasn't really interested in the journey, as it was mostly dark and boring, interposed by sharp judders as the metal-gourd rocked in unseen winds. He was much more interested with talking to the metal-outlander, who was patiently answering his questions. 

He was learning a lot.

"Jedi, they all got demon-fire magic then?"

"Yes, but they aren't magic, just weapons. They are called _lightsabers_."

Not _magic_? So what had happened at the camp? An outlander attack?

B'brk'ah thought this might be possible. The blue light had stopped him from seeing anything, and he had heard that some outlanders used flash-bang things to kill with, so maybe there had just been a raid. Anakin popped into his mind, but he dismissed the idea. One outlander could not take down an entire tribe, and outlanders never left any of their own behind, not even weak ones. They were silly like that.

"So purple-fire outlander, him a Jedi?"

"Unfortunately."

The purple-fire Jedi in question shot them both a glare. They mutually ignored it.

"What about green one?"

"He _leads_ the Jedi."

B'brk'ah couldn't believe it, and voiced a few Tusken sounds of disgust. The metal-outlander made a small choking noise before changing the subject.

"Has anyone told you about Coruscant?"

"Nuh-uh."

It was silent a minute. "Well, it's covered in buildings. Not tents, but outlander buildings. So high that some of them touch the clouds."

B'brk'ah just blinked. He couldn't even _imagine_ that. "Mountains?"

"Sort of."

Purple-fire broke up the impromptu lesson. "We are landing."

B'brk'ah didn't let up on the questions as they started to decelerate. "Where all the banthas go?"

"There aren't any banthas,"

"But... but how they _ride_?"

"They ride metal things."

"But what they wear? Metal?"

"Well... _I_ do."

The doors opened.

* * *

The Jedi Temple was impressive, Jango had to admit, but he would have preferred to admire it from a distance. Not to mention under different circumstances. But a bounty hunter didn't complain, and there were worse places to be, even if he couldn't think of any at that particular time... 

It was almost worth getting caught by Jedi to see the looks on the deck-duty Padawans faces when he stepped onto the deck – guarded by four Jedi Masters and accompanied by a miniature Tusken Raider, plus the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

The way they fled was very gratifying.

The Jedi were careful to separate him from Boba and take him by the quickest route down the holding cells. It was a little surprising to find that they had holding cells – and good ones as well, made almost entirely of metal. No torture devises though. Always a plus.

He was taking this quite well, considering.

There was no illumination inside the cell, just the bars of dim light from the corridor outside that striped the floor and pooled at his feet. It was a little bigger than usual, but otherwise resembled every other cell he had ever found himself in. Cold, dark, and uncomfortable.

Jango moved forward and stopped as he heard something stir in the corner. He felt the Jedi draw back outside.

Windu smiled somewhat nastily. "You might want to greet your cellmate."

_I could learn_, reflected Jango as he readied himself for a confrontation,_ to dislike that man. _

He door slid shut, and he heard whatever it was step towards him softly. In the light he caught a glimpse of things highlighted in weak yellow glow; a hollow cheek, a dark eye, smooth skin tinted an inhuman shade. It body was slightly misshapen, twisted the right and an oversized bulky shoulder. It walked towards him slowly, before stopping just outside the strip of light.

The slap came out of nowhere, so hard and fast it almost knocked his head off his shoulders. He enough time to think _my head seems to be in danger a lot lately_... when the voice that followed it made him stop all thought.

"That's for the dart, you complete and utter _bastard_."

He backed away to the door, unable to believe that fate was playing such a trick on him, that not only his dead son would come back but someone he had killed with his own hands, and... perhaps... had cared for as much.

The Clawdite bounty hunter Zam Wesell glared at him. "And you _still_ haven't paid me!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Big thanks, cookies and gooey pastries to my wonderful reviewers, without whom I am naught. Here's something for you, which would have come sooner if it wasn't for the _goddamn sonofabitch internet_ (rant, rave, etc).**

A/N: This chapter contains much information on Jango's past, so if you didn't know about it before, you soon will. All is canon info incase you wonder.

* * *

B'brk'ah should have been surprised by the Temple, awed at its sheer size, amazed at the numbers of Jedi patrolling its many hallways, so unlike Geonosis or Tatooine or even the closed confines of the transports. It should have stunned him, this artificial building on an artificial world.

In truth it had a bit, but between the journeys on said transports, Geonosis and Tatooine, the sheer scale of Coruscant as he had seen it – the waterfalls of light in the skies, each a separate being, the multitude of different sentient species he had seen on just that one journey – he was simply too tired to appreciate it fully. Just a brief twinge of astonishment, before he had stumbled blindly into yet another set of sterile quarters and collapsed in a heap.

He was woken much later by a concerned fuzzy-faced Jedi, who had babbled something worried that he could only croak a reply to. Sleep had misted his brain, but eventually he had come to understand that the outlander had been concerned for him, that he had to eat something and that he had to go somewhere afterwards.

So after a breakfast – actually late lunch – of dewback jerky in the 'fresher, washed down with the last of his water, he had followed the Jedi out into the unknown, feeling ruefully that he didn't think he could make any more room for extra surprise.

* * *

Jango was experiencing a similar emotion, but in a much nastier way. Zam hadn't spoken to him since her first outburst that morning, but gone back to her corner to stew. He knew he should be grateful. If she had pulled a trick like the dart on him she wouldn't have survived to be captured. 

However they couldn't sit staring at the walls for much longer, especially since he had a feeling that when the Jedi took him away, he might not return. He had a second chance. He couldn't blow it.

"Have the Jedi treated you well?" he asked finally.

"I got _this_." She turned, swing her prosthetic arm pointedly. Its shape made her profile lopsided; the bare metal reflected the light. "And I'm still alive, which is nice. Why did you use sleep juice by the way?"

"What? I did?"

"Well, I'm still here and Jedi can't resurrect the dead, so yes, I suppose you did."

Jango did use knock-out toxins from time to time, but he always interspersed them evenly, and he had been sure that when he had packed up his dart caster that the first one to fire would be deadly...

He cursed. That damn CSF agent!

"I bet it wasn't intentional."

"No."

She shifted slightly, before shrugging with surprising philosophy. "Oh well, all in the past now. What you doing down here anyway?"

He gaped, momentarily dumbstruck. _All in the past_? That was not the Zam he knew.

Of course the Zam he knew had had two arms and no scar on her neck, so...

"It's complicated."

She leaned back with narrowed eyes. "Well, it isn't as if we have something else to do."

* * *

Obi-Wan had worried about what he was going to do today, but as it turned out things were going just fine. 

Normally it wouldn't be necessary for a visitor to the Temple to visit this particular area, but the child was not an ordinary visitor. While normal visitors would have been inoculated against the many and varied diseases in the galaxy, a Tusken Raider from Tatooine would most certainly have _not_. Obi-Wan had a clear idea what the Council – not to mention Jango Fett – might have to say if the child dropped dead from measles, and so he had taken it to the medical facility to be jabbed and tested.

He had been concerned how they would do this, given its absolute refusal to remove any of its garments, but he needn't have fretted. The Jedi Medical Infirmary treated one of the widest ranges of beings in the galaxy, and had vaccine needles capable of piercing armoured plated hide, let along a few layers of sandy robes. Once the Tusken understood that they were not about to kill him, he accepted the slight pricks of pain with determined stoicism.

Obi-Wan was still congratulating himself on his success when the Jedi Healer in charge – Caudle, a human male with gentle hands and an empathetic nature – beckoned him over quite urgently.

"Master Kenobi, I think you should see this."

* * *

Zam listened, interrupting at only two places. One was at the point where he was fighting with Kenobi and being forced to retreat, which she liked the sound of and made him go over again. The other was at Geonosis, in the Arena. 

"He let you _live_?"

"You," Jango said with feeling, "cannot be as surprised as I was."

She quietened and listened as he described waking up in the airship, being held prisoner with the Tusken – whose presence confused her – and finally arriving at the hanger bay. He swallowed.

"I picked up the bundle, and looked inside the rags." He stopped and held her gaze with utter seriousness. "It was Bandy."

"Who?" She sounded baffled.

"_Boba's bantha_."

Her jaw dropped. "No _way_."

"_Yes_ way. He's alive, Zam. My son survived, he's alive, and he's _here_." Jango closed his eyes, unable to look her. "My son is alive, and the Jedi have him."

* * *

"It isn't possible," Obi-Wan said softly. 

"The readouts can't lie, Master Kenobi. The child is _human_."

"But..." But there was no _but_, Obi-Wan knew. It was possible for humans to be accepted into Tusken culture – A'Sharad Hett, Master Adi-Mundi's old Padawan, was living proof of that – but it was an exception rather than a rule.

"How?" he asked with wonder. "Its mother was Tusken, Anakin told me so himself. Could it have been adopted after a raid?"

"Or stolen from its parents. That is also possible."

"So it might have family? People to care for it?" It was an almost-perfect solution, much better than shipping the poor youngling to an orphanage. A _family_... "Can you search the records?"

"It might take a bit, but yes." Caudle settled down in front of the screen and typed in a password to the main menu. "If I can access the Republic database, I might find a genetic match."

Obi-Wan rose at once. "I woke it from a much-needed sleep. My presence was requested my Masters Yoda and Windu... could you look after it while I am there? He will probably sleep the day away."

"Of course, you go ahead." Caudle barely looked up from the screen. "Hurry back."

Obi-Wan nodded, and went.

* * *

Zam was silent for a minute, while Jango looked on impatiently. Surely she would say something, anything? She had been the closest Boba had to a mother; she had admitted herself she cared about him. Surely she would be just as overjoyed, as awestruck at this revelation? 

Instead she said slowly, "Jango... I was there when you got that bantha... the store alone had _hundreds_ of them, the production line ran for _years_..."

"No, it was his; I recognised... some things about it. It _can't_ be anyone else's."

"But even if it is," she said gently, all antimony forgotten, "It doesn't prove anything... it's just a doll..."

"Carried by a _Tusken_?"

"Well, that's just it. How could he have got from a starship in Mos Espa to a tribe of sand people?"

"He could have run into the desert."

"But Jango, what if it just picked the doll up somewhere? If Boba ran into the desert alone... on Tatooine that's practically the same as being blown up... it could have just found the body and stolen it..."

Jango glared at her feeling almost betrayed, unable to understand why she was being so calculating... so _cold_. It _was_ his son, he _knew_ it!

"I _know_ it, Zam. Everything he does... the way he moves... he _is_ my son. "

She looked at him sadly, and with some pity. "What if you're wrong, Jango? What if you've made a mistake?" Her voice struck out like a whiplash. "_What if he is not your son?_"

* * *

Obi-Wan returned from a gloomy conversation atop the central tower, hurried past the root of this search – who was sleeping peacefully on one of the medical beds – and drew up behind the screen. "Any luck?" 

"Not a one. I tried just the records for Tatooine – those that there are – but nothing. I even tried in the Outer Rim as a whole, but still no match."

"Perhaps the family never had their DNA taken."

"Everyone has to visit a doctor some time. I'll widen the search..." He palmed the screen, bringing up records for the Mid Rim and Expansion regions. An alarm beeped, making him suppress a yelp. "Possible match!"

"Bring it up!" Obi-Wan was almost absurdly excited at the search, a treasure hunt for grown-ups, and with a greater purpose. A stream of incomprehensible data filled the terminal screen. "A close match... by the stars, a parental match, a sibling... And they registered a boy for shots, although they didn't submit a sample."

"Where? Did they file a missing person report?"

"Wait, wait...no." Caudle sounded disappointed. "Listed as deceased."

"Information?"

"Farmer family, on... Concord Dawn it says here. The male that has a patriarchal link, maternal female listed as his wife, female sibling. Oh kriff!"

"What?"

"The date's too old." Caudle turned to the Master with the expression of a child who had opened Life-Day presents only to find clothes instead of toys. "They all died thirty-six years ago. Far too long ago."

"On the same _day_?"

"Aye. Boy was only reported missing though, never found a body."

"But ours is still too young. And a match..."

"Foul play. Don't worry." Caudle smiled and cracked his knuckle. "I'll figure this out, you wait and see."

* * *

_What if he is not your son?_ The question echoed around the cell and in his mind damningly. What if he was wrong? What of the child was just a Tusken that the Jedi kid had picked up? _What if he had got caught for nothing?_

"No, that isn't possible," he told himself and Zam. "It _is_ him, Zam, I know it."

"No you don't. You just hope so." Her voiced gentled further, almost kindly. "Jango, what happened over Tatooine was horrible, and I don't blame you for trying to find a way out but... it's just so _preposterous_. How did he escape from the ship? Why did he run into the desert? What reason would the Tuskens have to accept him anyway? Why keep the bantha? How, what, why all these things? There's no _proof_, Jango!"

It hurt, because she was right. So very right, and so very wrong, because he was convinced he hadn't made a mistake. His son was _alive_...

_What if he isn't?_

He couldn't have erred so much, it wasn't _possible_.

_You thought that last time. _

His fear snickered at him, picking at his heart to tear it back to shards.

_What if you are alone? Will you escape and go back to bounty hunting, and endless waking for fear of nightmares, carrying on as simply the shell you have been for so very long? What will you _do_, master Fett? _

He wished he knew the answer.

* * *

"Burning skies!" 

The expletive was so unusual for the mild-mannered Caudle that Obi-Wan sat up at once and raced back to the screen. The Jedi Healer had gone dead white. "What have you found?"

"I've got a match... a _perfect_ match... from _our_ records!"

"_What?_" Obi-Wan's Jedi serenity slipped a bit. "A _Jedi_?"

Caudle just pointed. "Look."

The Master read the screen with a slight frown. The data seemed innocuous enough, saying only_ sample CH00056345, taken for third degree burns, released_. _Relevance 1 to 0.999639. _

"I don't understand," he confessed, "although I don't recognise the sample designation."

"We've only just started using it. It was taken and listed with Jedi samples by accident. We designated them that to differentiate when we found them."

"It isn't a totally perfect match," Obi-Wan pointed out.

"Ah. I might have an answer for that..." Caudle palmed the screen again and brought up the chromosome structure. "See, the sample shows change here and here, along the strands that govern some of the brain biochemistry. The child's has a more natural pattern."

"The sample..."

"Was taken over Geonosis. And _not_ from a Jedi."

The credit dropped with a clang. "Dear Force," Obi-Wan whispered.

Caudle nodded grimly. "It's a clone."

* * *

And suddenly he did. 

He would do what he _should_ have done.

"Zam?"

"Yeah?" She looked wary, affected by his sudden change in tone.

"Forget the kid for a minute. Outside the Outlander Club..."

"What about then?" she asked frostily.

"I'm sorry."_ Such small words. Small, powerful words. _

The Clawdite blinked, stunned. "You _are_?"

"I am. I... afterwards... I regretted it. Every hour, every _minute_. From the moment I fired the dart. I just thought about it, every time I stopped, I _hated_ myself... I shouldn't have done it."

"You were protecting yourself," she acknowledged grudgingly.

"I shouldn't have been."

"What?"

"I should have tried to protect _both_ of us. Used my pistol, shot the Jedi. Not you."

Zam couldn't have been more stunned if a detonator had been let off in her face. "You... you..." She recovered herself. "Well, I did try and betray you, I guess. Can you forgive me for that?"

"If you can forgive _me_," he said quietly.

She thought it over, before shifting to her human form and smiling at him. "I think I do, master Fett. I think I do."

_Small, powerful words._

"Thank you," he said simply.

* * *

"But the differences..." Obi-Wan repeated it like a mantra. "The differences in the DNA..." 

Caudle pointed at them. "The strands are those that affect obedience and conformity. On the troopers' you can see signs of tampering, but the child shows nothing."

"He was never..."

"He was never altered at all."

"But..." Obi-Wan felt the future blow up in his face. "But that means... the bounty hunter..."

"If he would provide samples we could say for certain, but I think it's fair to say," Caudle said dryly, "that they would be a perfect match."

_There is a... bond there, between them...He cares for the child, that much is plain_

"Dear Force," he repeated, before something grabbed his attention. "But the other records..."

"What other records?"

"The ones from Concord Dawn. They suggested a parental link."

Light dawned in the Healers' eyes. "Ah. A little background on our guest?"

"He would be the right age."

A few moments searching proved Obi-Wan exactly right. Caudle whistled, something he was not prone to doing. "Bad business. Police records state they were all murdered on the same day, by some sort of terrorist group."

"The son?"

"Disappeared like I said. No body ever found." Caudle sobered and looked up at his fellow Jedi gravely. "The boy... his birth was listed _seven years _before."

_So young! _Obi-Wan shook his head sadly. The galaxy had many tragedies. Jango Fett's was only one more in a long, long list. Nevertheless Obi-Wan felt something like pity for him, quickly forgotten as his eye caught on the sleeping child.

What would they _do_?

The answer was simple. They would do what they _should_ do.

* * *

"You won't win against them," Zam said simply as they sat together facing the door. "They have ways of getting their answer that you won't like." 

Jango gritted his jaw. "I have ways of answering that _they_ won't like."

She rubbed her brow with a metal fist as if it pained her. "You and I hope so."

He heard the sound of hurrying feet, and stood with his partner. Whatever was coming... he was ready. They _both_ were.

The door slid back to reveal a grim-faced Korun Jedi, along with his equally dour comrades. "Come with us."

Zam nudged him forward when he didn't budge. "They'll drag you out otherwise," she murmured.

_I'd like to see them try. _He gave them a longer look, before sighing mentally and walking forward. To his complete lack of surprise a pair of stun cuffs was snicked around his wrists again, and he was led up the corridor to a bigger room and a chair facing a table. Behind it were two Jedi.

Jango studied them, the old green Grand Master whose legs waved above the floor and the younger – _much_ younger – Jedi seated beside him, auburn hair catching the light of the glowstrips in the ceiling. Of course, a classic interrogator ruse. Two Jedi who had stood up for him before, and who were responsible for his son... the 'child he cared about'. People he could _trust_. Honestly, you'd think the Jedi would be a bit less transparent.

His opinion of them would rise considerably after the words of the old Grand Master, who leaned forward with a penetrative stare. "So, bounty hunter, of Concord Dawn can you perhaps tell us, hmmm?"

* * *

"Hello, you're the new one aren't you?" 

B'brk'ah blinked behind his mask and turned from his lesson. The outlander in the light-coloured robes had given him a floating metal ball that had starting barking things in Huttese, before repeating them in outlander-talk. He was finding it surprisingly easy – as if he was remembering something he had half-forgotten, a long time ago.

"You're getting quite good at Basic. Stars, you're better than I was trying to learn Huttese."

B'brk'ah told it that he could hear that.

The outlander laughed. "Yeah, I guess you can. My name's Whie. Who are you?"

"B'brk'ah," he mumbled.

"Master Caudle said I should look after you while Master Kenobi's busy." The face turned serious. "Do you want something to eat first, or to go exploring?"

B'brk'ah gave it a long look. From the little he knew of outlanders, this one seemed to be about his age. Even if its clothes resembled those of a Jedi, it couldn't be that much of a threat could it? And he still had his gaderafi.

"Food," he said finally. "Then exploring."

Whie bowed and smiled serenely. "Then, oh noble guest, let me lead you to our eateries before you faint with hunger."

B'brk'ah stared at him for a moment, before starting to giggle.

* * *

Jango felt Windu shift position behind his seat as he sat stunned. Those... those _bastards_. How had they managed to drag that up? 

Well this might not have been the interrogation he had been expecting, but that didn't change anything, not really. He had been a soldier, and he knew how this was supposed to go. They asked you question, you sat there and gave name, rank, and number. Nothing else.

They knew his name, he had no rank, and he certainly didn't have a number, so he had nothing to say at all.

"Concerned we are," Yoda said mildly. "A child, reported missing, there is. Help maybe, can you?"

_No, Jedi. No-one can help when it comes to the past. _

Kenobi leaned forward. "Fett, we _know_ it was you who disappeared then. We _know_ how they were killed. We are trying to _help_ you. We can track down the killers, bring them to justice..."

_Help? Jedi don't help. And they got what they deserved. _

"Or maybe," said Yoda, his voice as soft and deadly as a silk garrotte, "justice already was brought to them, hmm?"

"Maybe." If they wanted to waste time on the past, fine. Better than asking _real_ questions.

He saw Kenobi frown and lean back contemplatively. "The armour is Mandalorian, so we are assuming it was... Mandalorian justice. Although I hadn't heard they recruited children."

"There's a lot you don't know about us."

He heard Windu grunt. "We know enough, bounty hunter. 'Mandalorian justice'... we can speculate what _that_ was."

"The same as _Jedi_ justice, then?" he said, and now he could feel himself start to get irked. They had no idea, the arrogant fools. "The same justice you showed _us_?"

"If referring to Galidraan you are, then no choice did we have. Refused to stand down, you did."

"We had no _reason_ to stand down." He could sense the anger start to creep into his voice, and quickly suppressed it. He couldn't show emotion to these. Especially not to these.

Windu's voice was cold. "You were murdering civilians... in 'Mandalorian justice'."

"You..." He stood up, not caring that their hands went to their lightsabers, and turned on the Jedi. He didn't care what happened next, or what they would do, he only wanted to tell them exactly what had happened that day, the pot of anger that had been simmering for twelve years up to the boil. "You self-righteous _prick_. We did _nothing_. The_ Death Watch_ killed the civilians, and because you can't tell one man in a helmet from another you went and blamed _us_..."

"How would _you_ know? You were just a soldier..."

"_I was _leading_ them, you barve-brained streak of shit!_"

There was a long pause. Windu looked less sure of himself.

"The Governor himself told us you were a threat..."

"He _lied_. He _hired_ us, _he_ was the reason we were there, putting down rebels for him, and then he pointed the finger on _us_ for what the Death Watch had done! And you _believed_ him!"

Yoda and Kenobi had risen and were coming around to face him, the trio standing together in the face of one man, looking doubtful, and Jango could guess why.

"You could have told us –"

"How? Would you have believed us? Against the _Governor_ of the _planet_?" They could tell when a person was lying, and he knew that now, none of them was detecting any deception. _What happens when you realise you were wrong, Jedi? What happens when _youfail

"We might have –"

"Oh, you _might_ have? Is that Jedi certainty speaking? You _might_ have?"

"If you had tried –"

"And if you hadn't? Should I have risked my men for a Jedi 'might have'?" Jango clenched his hands so hard the knuckles turned white, and his voice grew to a deadly cold whisper. "Don't you think I've thought about it _every day _since then, wondering what I could have done?"

The three looked at each other uncomfortably, as the whole of the Mandalorian nation stood in front of them, to hold the Jedi accountable for what had happened. Then he brought his only weapons to bear – the truth, and a towering anger that they had taken _everything_ from him, everything he had ever had.

"You killed us," he said coldly, his anger quietening into something more deadly. "You came, and you swallowed those stories, and you killed us all. We're all dead, and all because you never bothered to question, never tried to _understand_. I lost everyone I knew that day, _everyone_; they all died for nothing, and you can't help me with that, Jedi, because it was _your_ fault. They died for lies, and it's all your fault."


	21. Chapter 21

**Posted early because of the lovely, lovely people who pressed that little button called 'Go' last time. You're all swell :)**

* * *

From his fortress on Raxus Prime, Count Dooku, Dart Tyranus, Lord of the Sith and leader of the Confederacy, spoke to a blue ghost across a galaxy of stars. The war was progressing entirely to plan, except for one small detail.

"He will stay loyal to his employer," the Count ensured his master. "I have every confidence that he will remain silence."

"Every _confidence?"_

The Count paused. "Perhaps a backup plan should be available?"

"_Do what you feel you need to, Lord Tyranus."_

Dooku waited for the ghost to fade, before staring into the distance thoughtfully. Then he pulled a personal holocom from under his cloak.

"Put me through to Coruscant. There is someone I need to speak to..."

* * *

A different, but no less serious conversation, was taking place in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, between three of the finest Jedi in the Order. Their expressions were bleak, in stark contrast to the musical sound of the waterfalls and the ripple of the marsh bamboo around the ponds. 

"Is it possible that he was lying?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to repress a hopeful feeling.

"Believed he was, he did not. The truth he told, in his own mind." Yoda sat bowed on a boulder beside the reeds, looking older than the Temple itself.

"That's no guarantee that it _was_ the truth," Mace Windu pointed out. He was staring out at the nearby waterfall, as if searching for answers in the flow of the water. "He could be mistaken, or lied to himself."

"The truth you speak. But search your feelings you must. Think _you_ that he lied?"

Obi-Wan bowed his head. Mace turned away from the cataract, his face grim.

Yoda close his eyes as if struck by a deep and horrible pain. "Erred, we have."

* * *

Tuskens did not use the idiom 'taste explosion', which was a pity, as it described what was happening in B'brk'ah's mouth perfectly. He was seated on one of the toilets in the canteen 'fresher with a bowl of something he couldn't even name, and feeling as though his tongue had been stuck in a power coupling. 

When he came outside Whie was making the outlander bared-teeth thing that he had started to realise was a way of showing happiness. "Giju stew with noodles. Enjoyed it?"

He could only nod, giving the bowl to one of the serving droids. 'Enjoyed' wasn't the half of it. Tuskens ate only dried meat and what they could scrounge out of the desert, so noodles and Giju stew were...well... indescribable.

"Ok, follow me then. I'll show you something that will _totally_ blow your mind."

He followed the Jedi Apprentice out of the canteen, down the spacious hallways, and into a room where a sharp, clean smell wafted.

He stepped inside. His mind was blown.

* * *

"Gave them a good seeing to, did you?" 

Jango blinked and looked at his partner. She hadn't said anything when he had first come in, but now apparently she had decided to break her silence. "You heard?"

Zam smirked, not a pleasant sight on a Clawdite face. "The whole of Coruscant heard."

_Ah_. "A bit of a seeing to."

"Sounded more like a full-blown anti-matter explosion."

"Really?" He remembered the looks on their faces and gave a short laugh. "They probably thought so as well."

"I wish I could have seen it."

"Me too."

* * *

"Even if he is... correct." Mace couldn't it without a catch in his voice. "Even if he is, then for now what does it change, in relation to him?" 

Yoda was still gazing at something only he could see, hunched over his stick. "Changes everything it does."

"I beg your pardon, Master Yoda, but you cannot believe it excuses what he has done..."

"Said that I did _not_. But the future, clues to it this might hold, especially when the child is remembered."

Mace let his younger human fellow ask his question for him. "How, Master?"

The old being sucked through his teeth and glared at them both from under heavy lids. Then he jabbed his stick in Obi-Wan's direction. "Forget a moment Jango Fett. If the situation reversed was, what action would you take, hmmm?"

Obi-Wan looked confused. "I don't understand."

"_Think_ you must, young Kenobi. If the only Jedi you were, prisoner of the Mandalorians in their control centre, and a youngling of yours all unknowing was brought to the same stronghold, what would you do?"

The two humans shared a glance, before Obi-wan stared at the pool of rippling water in fierce concentration. Then, slowly, "Of course I would try to escape... but I would construct a plan, find the weak points of the base, and try to stay in the background until then."

"And the youngling, what of them? Protect it, how would you?"

"I wouldn't tell the Mandalorians of the child, certainly. It would be too dangerous. I would try to make sure it was alright, so..." Obi-Wan's face cleared.

"So watch over it you might, demand to see it, in order that still alive and healthy it was?"

All three looked at each other. Mace spoke first. "He knows, then."

"Mmm, perhaps, perhaps not. Likely it is."

"So what should we do?" Obi-Wan asked, thinking that he should go back to his Padawan. Anakin had arrived only that morning, with the first light, and had collapsed in his dorm room with exhaustion as soon as he walked in. But the war was spreading, and soon it would be time for them to leave for the front.

Yoda snuffed and starting to edge off the boulder. "For now, the war we must give attention to, more about this child we must learn, the bounty hunter we must question about Dooku."

Mace Windu rose. "I will –"

"Needed at the tips of the lances of the war, you are. Others there are that are needed less, and as able."

He showed no resentment. "I would recommend Saesee Tiin, then. He is the most competent telepath in the Order."

The other two conceded. Obi-Wan gave his habitual gentle smile. "Well, I think I can hear my Padawan waking up. No doubt he will want to visit those lance tips himself..."

But suddenly he turned his head; attention had been caught by the sound of a young voice nearby.

* * *

B'brk'ah stood transfixed as Whie babbled on in his appalling Huttese, listening. But not to the Padawan. He was listening to the water. 

"...It's a _huge_ area, right at the base of the Temple. I dunno if it really has a thousand fountains, but there are loads of waterfalls and plants and some meditative areas if you just want to come and sit still... hey, are you okay?"

He nodded, his throat constricted. He didn't know why he felt so strange in here – he should be happy, running around, playing in more water than he had ever seen in his life – but instead he felt... sad. As if he had lost a long time ago, only to find a pale echo now, but still recognisable enough to affect him. The feeling made his chest hurt.

((It's wrong,)) he said out loud.

"What?"

He remembered himself, and tried to explain in Huttese. "The noise all wrong. Should go like–" he made pattering noises in an attempt to explain. "Like sand on metal."

Whie blinked. "Uh, you mean like rain?"

"What rain?"

"Well, it's... water. Only it drops from the sky."

_Rain beating on the window, drumming its drops onwards in its conquest of the city. Lightning crashing with a report like the onset of a planetary bombardment. _

_Wide-eyed, he looked around. There was no-one there. _

((He promised he would stay,)) B'brk'ah said without realising.

"Um, I don't actually understand Tusken..."

"I..." He just shook his head, before seeing the figure hurrying towards him and groaning. "Fuzzy-face!"

Whie looked and gave a horrified snigger. "That's Master Kenobi!"

Fuzzy-face Kenobi drew up, accompanied at a distance by the small green and the purple-fire Jedi. He appeared concerned. "You seem a little tired, youngling."

"I fine," he lied.

"I think you should come back and rest for a while..."

"No."

Kenobi blinked and looked astonished, and B'brk'ah _knew_ he was astonished, because someone else... someone _important_... had looked like that once, so long ago.

He straightened and said in broken Basic, "Not go. Stay. Not go."

The outlander babbled something, but he didn't care, and he walked away into the pools and the falls, letting the water splash his wrapped feet. The Jedi stood for a moment in shocked silence, before hurrying after him and trying to grab his shoulder.

"Youngling..."

He spun and tried to smack off the irritating hand with his gaderafi, but B'brk'ah – unaccustomed to walking on damp smoothness – lost his footing on the rocks, and he skidded backwards into one of the pools. There was a consecutive yelp from both Whie and Kenobi, who immediately dived after him.

The Tusken flailed blindly, feeling the water smother his mask and eye tubes and his robes tangle around him, unable to believe that water – something that had saved many a life on Tatooine – was actually, impossibly, starting to _hurt_ him...

Someone grabbed his gloved left hand and pulled him up, the sodden rags slipped and as he was dragged into the light they came off entirely. He shrieked and hid his hand as if burned, but the damage was done.

Whie stared at him in disbelief, holding the sodden strips of cloth in his hand. He stammered "Y-y-you're _Human_!"

B'brk'ah, still with his hand tucked under his other arm, looked at him in bewilderment. "What is Human?"

Kenobi supplied the answer, gently taking the rags from the boy and handing them back to their owner. "I... little one, a human is... well, an outlander. By blood."

"I _Ghorfa_, _not_ outlander." B'brk'ah felt his eyes burn wetly. "Before maybe, but mama and papa made me _Ghorfa_ and I not an outlander, not now!"

Kenobi only shook his head sadly, turning to Whie and giving some sort of instruction to the boy. Whie nodded and said something in agreement, as the other two Jedi – forgotten in the kafuffle – walked slowly towards the trio. The taller one looked at B'brk'ah with sternness, but also pity.

"You are human," he said in clipped Huttese, "no matter how much you deny it you are, and you always will be. You will never be _Ghorfa_."

"_Liar_! Lying old outlander!" B'brk'ah turned his back on them, all of them, setting off into the reeds blindly. Kenobi tried to catch him again, but he ducked and started to run and the small green Jedi called out something that made his pursuer stop and turn, leaving him to lose himself in the mists of the fountains.

* * *

"I'm sorry Master Kenobi," Whie said in a small voice. "I shouldn't have grabbed him." 

"It wasn't your fault Padawan; you were only trying to help." Obi-Wan sighed and looked at Yoda. "Will he be alright?"

Green eyes a reflection of the pools around him narrowed sombrely. "Time only he needs. Accept the truth he must, eventually. Alone he should be."

"Um..." Whie looked terrified as all three Masters turned to gaze at him. "Um, is it ok if I can still visit him, when he's better?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan said kindly.

"Um thanks." Whie shuffled embarrassedly. "Um... there's a class this afternoon, um..."

Yoda gave a snuffling laugh and flapped his hands. "No need for more speech Padawan! Late already are you!"

The boy took to his heels without further speech. Obi-Wan smiled and chuckled a little.

Mace did not. "We should follow his example. We have delayed leaving too long as it is."

Obi-Wan sobered and nodded. "I will contact Master Tiin before I leave and tell him of your request, Masters. Who will look after the boy when I am gone?"

"Master Caudle, a good caretaker may be, hmmm?"

Obi-Wan looked surprised. "I... I'm sorry, Master; I assumed _you_ would be looking after him. Are you leaving as well?"

Yoda nodded. "I, a journey must take to Kamino. Much to learn there, there may be."

* * *

Jedi treated their prisoners reasonably enough, certainly far better than any of the other jailers Zam had occasionally met in her career. They provided three meals a day, a heated cell, and a private room near the back for detainees more earthy needs. 

And above all they granted privacy. Zam wasn't sure quite how long she had been incarcerated – surely more than two or three days, but less than ten or twelve – but in all that time, she had never found any cameras, hidden wires or anything else tucked away in dark corners. As it was, she was able to fill the gaping silence that had yawned after Jango had finished telling her what had transpired in the interrogation room.

"I hope Sone got away ok."

Jango looked up from whatever private reflection he had been dwelling on. "She was on planet as well?"

"Yeah, doing her own things as ever." Zam thought about her daughter, wondering where she was right then, whether she knew her mother was alive or if she had assumed the worst. "She's all grown up now, works as a bodyguard for some hotshot businessman."

"I wouldn't have thought she was old enough."

"Why not?"

"Well you're not..." he trailed off and snapped his jaw shut.

"Not what?" she asked teasingly, changing back to her human shape and fluttering her eyelashes. Teasing Jango worked when there was nothing else to do.

"It doesn't matter."

"Say it, Jango. There's no law against compliments."

"It's a fact, not a compliment," he said shortly.

"Why master Fett, how kind of you to say so."

He glared at her. She relented.

"Clawdites have short childhoods, although she sometimes needs her mum still." Zam shifted uncomfortably. The change had caused some discomfort thanks to her new prosthetic arm. "At the Outlander..."

She saw him tense slightly, but carried on regardless. "When I was just lying there, with those two Jedi goons standing over me, and that dart in my neck, I just... I just kept thinking: what would she do? If I wasn't there...if she got into trouble, who would she turn to? It angered me, but kinda puzzled me as well, that some stupid –" She stopped.

"Some stupid bounty hunter should take that away from her." Jango's voice was expressionless. "I know. The stupid bounty hunter wondered about that as well."

"Sorry."

"You were only telling the truth."

"Yes, well." She gave a small smile. "The truth doesn't loom large in our profession, really."

"No."

There was a long silence. Jango kept his eyes fixed on the wall opposite, silent for so long she thought he had fallen asleep, or had gone back to ignoring her. She was silent as long as she could be, before saying out loud –

"Jango?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you get yourself cloned?"

He gave her a mildly quizzical look. "It was a lot of money. Wouldn't you have?"

"No, I mean... I mean with Boba."

A wall slammed down behind his eyes, and he turned away. She cursed herself.

"Ok. None of my business."

"No." His voice was hard and blank as the wall he was looking at. "It isn't."

"Are you sure about him?"

Jango turned his head, eyes dark. "What?"

"Are you sure? I mean... are you really... without any doubt at all? He's still alive?"

A pause. "I'm sure."

She let out a breath. "Good."

* * *

All around there were reeds, as tall as a full-sized human, sheltering a pool of cool green water. Light filtered down from high windows made sparks dance on the surface with the water skaters, and ripples of gentle waves were formed from the force of the waterfall hitting the rock ledge high above. Water had smoothed its sides, and the sides of the bank around it, where a rag-swaddled form sat and looked at the flow. 

It was studying the emerald mirror before it, looking down deep into the currents, before it leaned back with a disappointed air. A stone was thrown in with a _plunk_, and the water skaters scattered as the golden sparks burst, and reformed. Waves danced for a moment, before splashing at the beings' feet and dampening the edges of the mask lying beside it.

B'brk'ah sighed. He had not taken his mask off outside any area smaller than his home tent for longer than he could remember. The air on his face was cold, but fresh, and it smelled wonderfully _alive_. Inside his mask he had thought it was kind of nice, like crushed Funnel Flower, but with it off he had stopped and just breathed for a full minute. The air had seemed rich enough to live on, just by breathing.

But now he had seen his face in the pond he forgot about the air. That face – with its hair straggling about, flattened by years of wearing a head covering, and its deathly pale skin, might have been unusual, but its was still recognisably the same sort as the purple-fire Jedi, or Whie, or fuzzy-face Kenobi.

What this meant he couldn't say yet. His mother had been convinced he was Ghorfa to the bone, even though she had known he had been an outlander, but the extinct tribe had been equally convinced he was nothing but an outlander. Either could be right. Or it could be up to him.

He would have to choose.

((Choose what?)) he asked out loud.

((A good question.))

B'brk'ah jumped and almost shrieked as he saw the figure picking its way through the reeds. He was dressed in the robes of the Jedi-outlanders, but its warrior-mask and gloves and speech made him grab for his own wraps and duck his face towards the ground. Too late!

((Rest easy; here at least there is no need for masks.)) He tilted his head and made a calming gesture, the gesture that Ghorfa adults used to soothe uli'ah. ((Mine stays only as a personal preference.))

To B'brk'ah's complete astonishment, he reached up and hooked his thumbs behind his ears, pulling off the mask gently. The face beneath was as pale as his own and striped with black lines like the stripes on a Scyks' face, but it was still human, and the uli'ah felt confused, but also relieved. If this one was human, maybe _all_ Ghorfa were. He asked as much, but still wary enough to keep his gaderafi close.

((No, Mace Windu was correct when he said there was a difference,)) the man answered. ((I was born to a father who was adopted much like you were, if a bit older. I came to see if you were troubled.))

((Very,)) B'brk'ah admitted. The Ghorfa-human sat at the edge of the water, and motioned for B'brk'ah to follow suit. He did.

((Because you are uncertain whether you are Ghorfa or outlander, and which you might prefer to be.))

((No,)) the uli'ah answered sharply. ((I _know_ I am Ghorfa, and that is the best thing to be.))

((Really? Because one lives in the desert and the other in a dwelling that does not move? Because one used bantha, while the other uses machines?)) The man looked at him with penetrating eyes, almost like the eyes of the small green being. ((And if you are Ghorfa, then why are you looking at me maskless?))

B'brk'ah felt his face flush hot. He had a point. ((I like some things about the outlanders,)) he admitted. ((I like flying, and the food, and the green places. But I like being a Ghorfa as well. Some bits.)) He remembered the bloodrite, and shuddered. ((Some bits I _don't_ like.))

((Why not be both?))

He stared. ((I... you can't be...))

((Oh? Did you make some sort of oath saying you had to all or nothing?)) The man made an outlander happy bared-teeth action. ((Why not just do the bits you enjoy? There are no other Ghorfa here.))

The idea had a certain appeal. ((But I'm scared,)) B'brk'ah confessed, ((I'm scared that if I do that, I'll forget my mama and papa just like I forgot my life before...))

((What life before?))

((I don't know. All I remember is lots of water hitting the roof of my room, and flashing lights outside. And an outlander who wore blue.)) He paused, before adding in a small voice, ((I think I cared about him a lot. I think I still miss him.))

The man looked out over the water before saying slowly, ((What is it that you think makes Ghorfa different from outlanders?))

He thought it over. ((My friend said once that all Ghorfa were brave and loyal and fierce as the suns.)) The other nodded.

((So if you stay brave and loyal and fierce, then no matter what you are dressed in or what else you do, then you will always be a Ghorfa where it matters.)) It laughed shortly. ((Believe me, I know. I am Ghorfa and _Jedi_ at the same time.))

He looked up hopefully. Jedi were as outlander as you could _get_. ((Thank you.))

((I was only doing what was right. That is both Ghorfa and Jedi.)) He made the outlander happy bared-teeth action again. ((Do you want to stay here a little longer, or go back and rest?))

((I would like to stay here, sir,)) B'brk'ah said politely. ((I can rest here.))

The man rose, put his mask back on, and gave a Ghorfa salute. ((Then farewell until our next meeting.))

B'brk'ah said goodbye in the same way, before going back to watching the water.

* * *

Jango as a rule kept a calm demeanour when around other people. Apart from helping to quell potential bounties, it also gave the impression of someone who was completely and utterly unruffled by anything, which in most cases wasn't far wrong. When it came to mere death, he had never really seen the point of panicking or being scared. It was death. Death happened. Deal with it. 

And although that calm demeanour hadn't been very apparent lately he was doing his best to keep his head, despite the lack of distractions in the cell which was letting him quietly dwell on how much trouble he was in. Regardless of those uncomfortable thoughts, he was doing reasonably well

It was this calm demeanour that was stopping him from at the very least throttling his cellmate, who unlike her partner was _not_ an aloof, contemplative loner but an open, reckless sociable being who talked a lot. Far too much, in Jango's opinion. And she seemed to take his lack of response as an invitation to babble about the stupidest things. Sometimes he would catch her watching him with a gleam in her eye, as if she was doing it deliberately to make him react.

He was just thinking wistfully of his lost blasters – or even just a sudden attack of deafness – when something knocked at the door, the boom thankfully drowning out Zam's voice. A voice hissed through the door.

"Count Dooku sends his greetings."

Both bounty hunters looked at each other, before they jumped up in unison and went to stand in front of the door. A small barred window at the top showed a Weequay wearing Jedi robes.

"Does he now?" said Jango evenly.

The Jedi closed his eyes and pronounced the clearance code used only by Dooku's most trusted allies. "He realizes that you might want to leave the Temple. I was sent to aid you."

"Thoughtful of him." Jango glanced at Zam and jerked his head towards the door, then raised an eyebrow in question. She shook her head. She hadn't heard of him before.

"I know ways out of the Temple. Three days from now I will fix the control systems to fail in the holding area and start a diversion near the main entrance. You will then follow me to the meeting place, where Count Dooku will have a ship waiting."

_Will we indeed? _Jango had been around long enough to know when someone wasn't telling the whole truth, and he was hearing it now. "Did he tell you about the child?"

A pause. "Yes. It will be taken as well."

Zam spoke for the first time. "I would appreciate getting my armour back. And we have no _weapons_."

"All of your equipment is being held in the room at the end, and I will leave blasters there for you tonight." The Weequay was starting to sound impatient. "You can collect it when you leave. All that he asks is that you do not tell the Jedi anything."

Jango had always held by the adage _watch out for things that go too well,_ and a traitorous Jedi who was offering to rescue them complete with armour and Tusken son definitely qualified as something going to well. It wasn't lost on him either that the safest way for Dooku to ensure they said nothing was to make sure they never spoke again.

Not to mention that he had told this traitor about Boba. Jango wondered why, and had a nasty feeling he might want to find out before he went anywhere _near_ the Sith.

Nevertheless their only other option was to sit and wait for interrogation and incarceration on some prison planet, which didn't appeal.

"Tell Dooku that we will be ready."

"He will be pleased to hear so." The Weequay started to leave, but stopped as he spoke again.

"One thing. I don't trust people I don't know."_ Or even the ones I _do _know, half the time. _"Who are you?"

It looked back at the cell door, before turning and walking into the shadow. "Sora Bulq."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: WARNING... Jango gets whumped a bit in this chapter. I did my level best to make sure there was no OOCness, but since the situation has never come up before all I can say is I did my best. **

**Cookies and gooey sweets to all my reviewers :)**

* * *

B'brk'ah was taking things one step at a time.

He had kept his mask and gloves. He no longer got the shivers when he thought of taking it off (well maybe a _little_, but not much), but he felt more comfortable with them on, and not just because of cultural training. Coruscant was far colder than Tatooine.

But otherwise, he had started to shift towards the bits of being an outlander that he thought he might enjoy. He had accepted a pair of pants and boots that Whie had offered him by way of apology, as they were about the same size. Since his own garments were designed to keep heat _out_, he hadn't hesitated before putting them on.

He was also trying to keep up with Basic, and had started to learn enough to get a grasp of what the Jedi around him were saying. It was because of this that when he was listened to a conversation between two Masters at the base of the Tower of First Knowledge (en route to the gardens) he would immediately gasp and rush down to his new friend, demanding what _interrogation_ meant.

As the confused and slightly worried boy tried to explain, Masters' Agen Kolar and Saesee Tiin carried on unknowing, discussing the bounty hunter being kept below.

* * *

"They took their own sweet time about it, didn't they?" 

Jango didn't answer, mostly because he was preparing for what was ahead, but he conceded that Zam might have a point. It had already been two days since he had first been brought here, and he was surprised that they hadn't come down to commence questioning sooner.

_It's the war_, he thought to himself as Zam fidgeted nervously, _they're all fighting in the war. They didn't have time for a bounty hunter who may or may not have useful information. Until now. _

Zam looked at him bleakly as the footsteps drew nearer, her face back in its natural form. "Look, when they question you..."

"Yes?"

"They'll probably invade your mind." She was looking him face-to-face, but her eyes were shadowed. "If you're serious about keeping them out then try and concentrate on something. Anything. It helps to block them."

"How long?" he asked quietly.

"I lasted about five minutes." She shrugged, stepping back as the footsteps halted outside the door. "You might last longer."

Jango nodded silently as the door slid back, revealing two Jedi. He faced them impassively.

"Jango Fett." The Iktotchi looked as grim as he was feeling. "Come with us."

"As you wish." He kept his gaze straight ahead as the stun cuffs were produced, trying to clear his mind. At least he knew what he could concentrate on.

Zam was silent as he was led away.

* * *

"They _hurt_ him?" B'brk'ah almost yelled. Jedi walking past looked around at the Huttese words. 

Whie looked uncomfortable. "Um, Jedi don't hurt people if they can avoid it, but..."

"But what?" The uli'ah was hopping from foot to foot, in half a mind to start running after the Masters himself.

"Well they can't foresee _everything_ that happens... if he fights back too hard..."

"What then?" B'brk'ah really did start shouting. "_What they do then?_"

"He could get a bit damaged," said Whie awkwardly. "They'd do everything they could to prevent that of c– hey, wait!"

His shout was belated. B'brk'ah was already heading for the Tower, and accelerating.

* * *

Saesee Tiin hadn't been overjoyed when Obi-Wan had brought Windu and Yoda's request to him, but he was ready to admit he was by far one of the best telepaths in the Order, his species natural ability amplified by the Force. While normal methods usually worked on those beings that, for one reason or another, had to be questioned by the Jedi, he had been told enough about Jango Fett to know that he would have to fall back on his own unique skills. 

Nevertheless he started the interview unexceptionally enough. "Do you need anything?"

Blank stare. It was not a normal interrogation question, but having an interviewee collapse and die during questioning would be a little embarrassing for the Order.

Time for the standard questions. "Do you know why you are here?"

The stare was, if anything, even blanker.

"We believe you are responsible for at least one attempted murder and the attempted assignation of senator Amidala, along with aiding an illegal cause in the pay of Count Dooku. All of those would lead to at least twenty years in a high-security prison planet. Do you understand that?"

Slight nod.

"The sentence will be reduced if you confess. It will be reduced even further if you give information on your employer, Count Dooku. If your information leads to his capture or defeat, you will be released entirely."

No reaction. Time to speed things up.

"Who placed the order for the clone army?"

Silence.

"Was it Sifo-Dyas?"

Silence.

"Was it Count Dooku?"

Silence.

"When you were contacted on Bogden, who was it by? Did you see his face?"

The bounty hunter might as well have been a statue. Saesee started to wonder if he was breathing, and changed tack. "Did you kill Master Sifo-Dyas?"

Nothing, but Saesee sensed the answer was 'no'. The bounty hunter had felt a flicker of surprise that suggested so.

"Did Count Dooku kill him?"

No reply.

"Were Count Dooku and Sifo-Dyas working together?"

No reaction, but Saesee pressed doggedly on.

"Did Dooku know about the clone army?"

Still no reaction.

"Did he try and stop it from being grown?"

Saesee continued for another hour, doubling back, asking the same questions over and over again, and trying with an increasing amount of un-Jedi like frustration to break the eternal silence. Finally he conceded defeat, and sighed. Normally a mind probe wouldn't have been used for at least another two sessions – questions and the Force providing answers long before then – but there was a war on and the bounty hunter hadn't even react to most of the queries.

Nonetheless it didn't make this any more enjoyable to do.

"Do you have any medical problems?"

The bounty hunter looked bleak, and shook his head. The Iktotchi readied himself as Agen Kolar quietly injected the mind relaxant and stepped back outside.

"If you start to feel ill, all you have to do is say so and we will end the session."

If Saesee had been trying to frighten the bounty hunter, he would have been disappointed at the lack of response. As it was he took a deep breath, before sending out the first probe.

* * *

B'brk'ah was furious at himself, but it didn't change his situation. He was completely lost. 

He hadn't the first idea where the Jedi would keep a prisoner, and only the vaguest idea of where the two Masters had been heading for in the first place. The Temple was extremely big, and he wasn't, and what's more he had had to lose Whie first, getting lost doing _that_, before finally finding his way through what felt like acres of gardens to the Tower. Now he was skulking around one of the training areas, empty save for a few training remotes stacked in the corner.

Where had they _gone_?

A door caught his eye, and he sighed mentally. One hundredth time lucky, maybe.

* * *

The first attack was gentle, and gave Jango time to close his eyes and bring up an image of the white ceiling of his bedroom in Kamino, fixing it in place before the relaxant took effect. Of course, he had spent many sleepless nights staring at it, and knew every inch as well as the inside of his own helmet. The probe hesitated at the blank wall, and started to press. 

_Just white. Keep focusing. _

Mind probes were never pleasant, although it would have done nothing for Jango to have known this. The psyche of any being was the most private of areas; invading it even gently caused fair amounts of distress. It was comparable, in general terms, to having a brain-attacking parasite – perhaps similar to the fever wasps of Haruun Kal – chewing its way through your ear and into your head.

_Just white, with a crack in the corner where one of your darts went off by accident..._

The probe slithered around, searching for a weak spot. He could feel himself start to sweat.

_One central crack, with a branch spiralling off. Like a tree._

It wriggled towards that crack, watching it like the dire-cats had watched him and Vizsla...

_Focus. Focus on the white. _

He couldn't afford to think about that.

The probe drew back momentarily, but he knew better than to ease off. It came back again, stronger, and he felt his hands clench convulsively, the stun cuffs rattling as he gained control of his arms and froze them.

_Blank white. Blank white. _

Through blurred eyes he saw the Jedi, eyes closed serenely, one hand extended towards him. The probe struck lightning-fast, aiming not for his knowledge, but his memory.

_Focus!_

The wall held for a moment, but already something was shifting, the white was changing from smooth wall to pale snow...

_It was so cold. _

A scatter of memories burst into life and was swept away in seconds. _Blood on the snow, like a flower... lightsaber arched against the sky, blue on blue... burning meat..._

The Jedi were no fools. They didn't attack where you were strongest, safe in your own room. They attacked where you weak, when you were looking down on a friend cut down by a Jedi lightsaber.

_Myles lying in two pieces, snowflakes falling in a veil..._

_No. That's done. _

He snapped back to the wall and the Jedi drew back. Jango didn't dare let down his shield, not now, even though he was just as tired.

The Iktotchi took a calming breath, before beginning again.

This time there was no Jedi restraint, just a pure and simple hammer of will that broke against the wall like a blaster bolt on armour. The first time made Jango jerk and clench his hands into white-knuckled fists. The second made a spasm run down his spine.

Gentle probes were comparable to fever wasps. A full assault was comparable to iron spikes being driven through both temples, and had a tendency to leave permanent damage. Saesee hadn't gone that far yet, but the difference was the same as between, say, iron spikes and steel nails.

_Focus, focus, focus. _

The third probe smashed down the wall momentarily and there was horrible second when his whole mind was exposed – bare as a crab out of its shell – before the wall was back in place. He could feel his hands shaking.

Jedi had a game called pushfeather, where two would try and push over their opponent with only the Force. The trick was to find the others weak point, where they would not flow.

Jango did not know this, but Saesee did.

The wall was wavering.

_Just a blank white space. _

The fourth came so fast and unexpected that he stiffened into a rictus, his teeth bared in a grimace he was no longer aware of.

All he could see was the white.

_Just white just white just white... _

* * *

B'brk'ah saw the Jedi before it saw him, and knew immediately that he had come the right way. It was the tall Zabrak he had seen with the horned being, standing guard outside a door. He froze for a moment as it turned and saw him. 

Its face furrowed, and it started towards him. He had to think fast.

Deciding on the innocent approach he cheered his voice and walked forward, saying in Huttese, "where this? Got lost."

It hesitated as he ambled towards the door, replying haltingly, "You should not be here."

"Why that so? Dangerous?" He kept the cheery demeanour, keeping half an eye on the door. It was opened a crack

"Yes. You had better hurry back up, youngling."

He nodded and tried to give the impression that he was about to, mindful of Oh'Sorro'ger's teachings about body language. "Sure, I go and am doing th–"

Without another word he dived for the door, ducking under a hasty arm and sprinting into a gloomy room with a polished black table and a glass of water on it. The horned being was seated on one side, the seat opposite him and nearest the door by the metal-outlander. The latter was stiffened into a rigor that B'brk'ah saw with a sickening lurch was horribly similar to Ur'Uruuga after he had been shot – as if he was dead already.

B'brk'ah whirled and threw his gaderafi just as the horned being stood up in amazement.

* * *

Jango felt the probe whisk out of his mind as quickly as it had come, and his whole body sagged, before starting to shake uncontrollably. The room focused again, the Iktotchi yelping and whipping back his hand as a stick of metal flew past him, before the owner of the weapon came running after it. 

"Get back, outlander _r'rrk'aor_! Or gonna hurt you bad!"

_Boba_. He reached out a glacially slow hand and grabbed his son just as the boy flew past him, almost dragging him off balance. "Stop," he rasped.

He stopped, eye tubes turned to him in concern. "They hurt you?"

_You have no idea._ "I'm fine," he lied, feeling anything but. The tremors wouldn't go away, and he could barely breathe.

The Zabrak Master had come in straight after Boba, and was now grabbing his son. Swallowing his anger – Boba couldn't stop this, and he didn't need to see it – Jango told him harshly "I'm fine. Go back with the Jedi."

Neither of them had much choice, and Boba let himself be led out – though not without his gaderafi and a last threatening look at the Jedi. The Iktotchi sat back down after the boy had gone, pushing the glass of water over gently with the Force.

"Here, you will need this."

Pride was all very well but right now, with a mouth that felt as dry as Ryloth, it was a hollow thing. He swallowed most of it in one gulp, feeling his teeth rattle against the rim.

"You will have to stay here until the next session."

He nodded understanding. Standard interrogation practice, keeping captives isolated. "When will that be?"

"An hour's time."

"I'll be ready," he said, knowing he lied. There was no way of being ready for it. He wasn't even sure he could hold out next time. He had lasted seven minutes, maybe less, and he had only been saved by some timely intervention by his son.

_His son_. "When will I see the child?" he asked as the Iktotchi neared the door.

It paused, as if suddenly remembering. "That is for the Council to decide."

With that he left, leaving Jango to think on the future. He had a feeling that things weren't about to get any better.

* * *

Zam paced the cell, waiting impatiently. Even Jango couldn't hold out this long, what was _keeping_ them? 

The minutes passed, and blurred into hours, and there was still no word. Zam tried to calm herself down.

_It's just a technique, he'll be fine, he's stronger than they think..._

It wasn't helping a great deal. She tried pragmatism.

_Who cares? He's just a business partner. Not to mention the fact that he _shot_ me less than a week ago. _

But it was too late for that. You couldn't start to care about someone and then suddenly say _hang on he's a cold-blooded killer, I have to stop this. _You couldn't just _shut it out._

She gave up and carried on worrying.

* * *

Jango was right. The second session was worse than the last, and the one after _that_ made him bite through his own tongue. Both times had been called off before the probes had gotten anywhere, and he knew he should be appreciative of Jedi squeamishness when it came to killing prisoners for that, but he wasn't. Not one bit. 

The only thing he was actually grateful for was the water. He always needed water afterwards.

During the sessions it had been hard, very hard, not to think about Boba, especially when the probes struck unexpectedly or especially fast. He kept a grip on his thoughts by reminding himself over and over again that whatever the Jedi might do if they found out about his son, he was sure that it would benefit either of them.

In due course they had left him alone for a while. He had lost track of time, but it had to have been... perhaps a day. Perhaps two. They had sent in another Jedi for more mundane methods eventually, who had had no more luck than his predecessors. Jango couldn't even remember their name. Jai something-or-other.

Well he had gone away with nothing, whoever he was. You Did Not Inform On A Client. Although Jango would have been happier about sticking to that rule if Dooku would hurry up and get them out.

* * *

B'brk'ah didn't speak to Whie – or anyone – for the rest of the day, furious at being carted away like excess baggage. He hadn't believed a word of the metal-outlanders' reassurances – he wasn't _stupid_. It had looked almost _dead_ when had gotten past that Jedi. 

He had gone to his room to sulk and avoid Whie, who was mortified at almost leading to the injury of one of his Masters' by opening his mouth at the wrong time. Eventually, driven by hunger and boredom, he had sneaked out for food and spent the rest of the day wandering around the Temple aimlessly.

Now he was currently lurking outside the Tower in the gardens when a disturbance by the entrance made him look around and groan. The green thing was back, and from the base of the Tower the horned being was coming out. At least the metal-outlander would be on his own now.

Turning on his heel, B'brk'ah decided to go back to his room and practise his Basic... and keep a sharp ear out for any further developments.

* * *

The developments were happening, but out of his earshot. In the High Council Tower, five Jedi Masters' had met to share information and discuss a problem. And try if possible to find a solution. 

Which was looking, thought Obi-Wan, increasingly unlikely.

"How is the war progressing?" asked Master Tiin.

"Neither side has made an overt first move so far," he replied wryly. "Clone intelligence has found evidence of a special project of Count Dooku's, but has yet to discover precisely _what_. No-one is ready for full-scale war yet."

"How long do you think it will take for the Separatists to attack?" Mace Windu looked grim.

"I don't know," he admitted, "we may have a few days grace while they build up their strength and prepare, but as to how soon... I don't know."

"They're up to _something_," muttered Jai Maruk. "You can sense it, even through the darkness."

"Revealed, all will be, with patience," said Yoda firmly. "Master Tiin, what information was revealed, when questioned the bounty hunter you did?"

The Iktotchi coughed slightly. "Ah... nothing."

"_Nothing_?" Mace Windu's eyebrows drew together alarmingly.

Jai Maruk scowled. "If you will forgive me, Masters, I will say that questioning that bounty hunter reveals less than talking to the stones in the gardens. And is about as compelling."

"All that we can tell so far is that he _probably_ did not kill Master Sifo-Dyas," added Saesee Tiin. "He felt a small amount of surprise at the suggestion."

"Surely the mind probes..." began Obi-Wan.

"I was forced to stop using them. It was either that or cause permanent damage."

Mace Windu looked as though he considered this a price worth paying, but he held his peace. Obi-Wan shook his head silently and turned to the oldest member.

"What did you discover on Kamino, Master Yoda?"

Yoda grunted with annoyance. "In connection to the war, less even than Master Tiin and Maruk did I discover. Only what they told me before did the cloners, that Sifo-Dyas an order placed, that Tyranus the bounty hunter found for donation."

"They were partners?" asked Saesee Tiin, startled.

"Maybe yes, maybe no. Additional information we may yet discover. But more about the child did the Kaminoans furnish."

Obi-Wan leaned forward with interest. "What did they say?"

"That when first the army was created, payment did Jango Fett demand. Credits did he ask for, but also an unaltered clone. An apprentice was it meant to be. But stolen it was, six years ago, and never came back."

"Why not? And how?" Mace looked angered.

"A bounty hunter there was. Attacked Fett he did, while a slicer kidnapped the child. Gave chase did Fett, to Nal Hutta and Tatooine, but he returned alone. Reported dead it was."

"Can we be sure it is the same child?" Saesee Tiin asked.

"Another, never created there was, with the cloners' knowledge. Allow it, Jango Fett would not."

"But that makes no _sense_," objected Mace. "If he wanted an apprentice why didn't he have another one created?"

No-one answered. Yoda's ears flattened along his skull, and his face grew thoughtful.

"At the root of this mystery, that question may lie."

* * *

B'brk'ah was finally allowed to meet with the metal-outlander that day, Obi-Wan, the horned being and the two others that always seemed to pop up escorting him. The reunion wasn't very long – less than three minutes, just long enough for each to check the other was alive and well. The horned being had led him away again, murmuring that Masters Yoda, Windu, and Kenobi wanted to have a quick word with his friend. 

Behind him, as the door quietly closed, Jango watched the Jedi warily as the smallest one leaned forward with a knowing smile.

"Of your apprentice, _more_ to say have you, hmmm?"


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Got some good news and bad news...**

**Good news - The story is almost done, only a few more chapters to go.**

**Bad news - The next chapter is being re-edited, so will take longer than usual to add. Plus this ends on an evil cliffie. **

**Would appretiate no rotten fruit being thrown... thank you... :)**

* * *

Sora Bulq watched the Tusken being taken away with narrowed eyes. Silently, he detached himself from behind the statue and walked towards the Tower.

The Weequay was not fool enough to eavesdrop at the door of the interrogation cell like a naughty Padawan. Why bother, when with a little stealth and the use of the Force to enhance your hearing you could sit quite comfortably in the training room directly above and listen just as well?

Bulq sat down as if meditating and listened hard.

* * *

Mace Windu was watching the bounty hunter carefully as Yoda spoke, and he was unsurprised if a little disgusted at what he saw.

Jango Fett hadn't shown any emotion at all.

Both Yoda and Obi-Wan had cautiously told him about the trip to Kamino and the subsequent information, slowly and hesitantly, as if breaking terrible news. The bounty hunters' only reply had been "so?"

When Obi-Wan had asked him if he had known about the child he had replied – and Mace had detected no lie – "Since the hanger bay above Geonosis."

"Told us, you did not." Yoda was studying him carefully. "Know you that reunited you would have been?"

Fett shrugged. "Why would I want to be? He's too old for me to train properly now."

"You care about him," said Obi-Wan quietly.

"I wanted my moneys' worth. Maybe I could sell him later."

Mace felt his hand itch for his lightsaber. This piece of bounty hunting _filth_ was talking about a child as if he was nothing more than another_ reward_...

"You demanded to see him," said Obi-Wan hurriedly, as if sensing Mace's rising temper. "Why?"

Fett looked sardonically amused. "Damaged goods don't fetch as much."

Yoda and Obi-Wan leaned back and looked at each other, eyes saying everything. _Looks like we were wrong. _

Mace was too much a Jedi to say _I told you so. _

* * *

The hardest thing Jango would ever do – harder than bringing the body of his foster-father and mentor back to his men, harder than watching those same men be wiped out by the Jedi two years later, harder even than losing Boba in the first place – would be to sit there as if discussing something of less importance than a docking fee for his ship, all the time hearing the Jedi talk about _his son_.

On the plus side he was managing to annoy Windu almost as much as the Jedi had been irritating him lately. It was almost worth having to sit through this to see.

"Refused another apprentice, you did," Yoda said softly.

"The Kaminoans would have asked for payment in cash," he said, keeping his face under control. He _knew_ he wasn't showing any emotion. "I didn't feel like giving it to them."

Windu snorted. _That's right_ aruetii_; you keep thinking I'm nothing more than a murderer for hire. _Which he basically _was_, he had to admit. They were still holding the only thing that separated him from people like Montross, which was why he had to pretend he didn't care, never had, and never would. He had to hold on to the idea he had had in the first place, of creating just an apprentice to carry on Jaster's legacy.

_But he was more than that, I know. And when we are free from here I will tell him. _

The Jedi all shared a collective look, and gave an inaudible sigh. Good, they were giving up.

"Taken to your cell, you will be," Yoda said calmly. "There you will wait, until time we have to question you further."

"I look forward to it," he said coolly.

Windu rose before the others could say anything and gestured curtly for Jango to walk ahead of him. He heard Yoda and Obi-Wan get up and walk quietly after him, discussing something in low voices. He couldn't hear what they had to say, and didn't care. By this time tomorrow he would – with any luck –be out of the Temple. Just him and his son. No more cells, questionings, or mind probes. No bloody Jedi either.

Windu spoke almost as soon as they started down the corridor. "I have only one question, bounty hunter. You shouted for the child in the hanger bay. Why?"

_Blast_. Jango thought hastily, as they drew level with the cell door. "You were taking him away. I didn't want the Jedi to steal my _property_."

Windu's nostrils flared and he grasped his lightsaber as though he wanted nothing more than to swing it up and through Jango's skull. "You scum," he whispered as he controlled himself and pushed Jango through the door.

"The feeling," said Jango dryly as the door slid shut, "is mutual."

* * *

Sora Bulq unfolded his legs, waiting for the cramp to leave with the three Masters', who split and went their separate ways from the Tower. From the sounds of it the bounty hunter was staying loyal to the Count, something that would please him somewhat. Fett knew far too much about the Confederacy – and Dooku – and he could damage the CIS substantially with that knowledge. At the very least, he knew that Count Dooku and Darth Tyranus were one and the same, something no-one in the Separatist movement was ready for the Republic to know.

The Weequay hurried down to the cells. He had found the Count on Bakura little more than a day after Geonosis, along with Master Thlome. He had tempted Bulq, and the Master had resisted, but he had fled the battle in confusion. Disillusioned with the Jedi, he had sought the Count out afterwards and asked to be shown the dark side. On Bakura, the Jedi Master had renounced his Order and taken the title of Dark Acolyte.

Not that the Jedi knew this of course. As far as they were concerned Master Bulq had suffered a crisis of faith on Bakura but made his way back to the Temple and was now seeking guidance from the Force. It was aggravating not being able to use the dark side – suicidal in the heart of the Jedi's power – but sacrifices had to be made in war, after all.

Now he had to confirm the escape date with the bounty hunters, also aggravating since he knew perfectly well that Count Dooku was in all likelihood going to kill them both as soon as they were in his power. Such a waste of energy, when he could kill them here. Oh well.

He padded down the cell-lined hallway and froze. Voices were drifting down towards him...

* * *

"Nice man," commented Zam. "Very polite."

"You noticed."

"What was _that_ all about?"

Jango sobered up rapidly, and she looked at him sharply. "The Jedi did a blood test. They know about Boba."

She blinked, feeling surprised. Of course she should have been, but she had never _really_ believed Boba was alive, not been _absolutely_ convinced. She knew better than most what grief did to people (she had caused many of them to feel it, after all), and so hadn't taken much notice of Jango's insistence that his son was still alive.

The surprise gave way to horror. "They _do_?"

"Apparently they asked the Kaminoans." Jango rubbed his forehead as if trying to wipe away his tense frown. "Aiwha-bait cloners told them all about our deal."

Zam cursed in at least twenty languages, before noticing how pale he was looking, as if he was about to be sick. "I take it the interrogation wasn't any more pleasant for you than it was for me."

"No. But they got no information." Jango sat down carefully, his face set in stone. "Dooku can't weasel his way out of the deal so far."

Zam said nothing, but sat down beside him, changing to human form as she did so. She knew he was more comfortable with it, even if he had never shown any reaction to _either_ form.

Finally she said in a low voice, "can we trust him?"

A snort. "No. Dooku will have us both killed before we leave Coruscant. It's the safest way for him."

"Then what should we do?"

Jango curled his hands into fists on his lap, looking at them thoughtfully. Then – "we follow the plan as far as it gets out of the Temple. Then we part ways with the Jedi and find somewhere _safe_ to negotiate from."

"The Jedi won't like that," Zam felt obliged to point out.

"It's two against one and I know where to run for. If the worst comes to the worst then we'll kill him and hide for a while."

"He'll have Boba," she said quietly.

"I'll just ask to be the one that looks after him. That won't rouse his suspicions."

"He might just leave us in the lurch in the middle of the Temple."

"No. The Jedi would try and take us _alive_, and Dooku can't risk that. He has to finish the job himself to make sure."

Zam hesitated, unsure how to express what was on her mind. "I notice," she said carefully, shifting her prosthetic arm to a more comfortable position, "that you keep on saying _we_."

Jango looked around impassively. "I assumed you would want to escape as well."

"Oh yeah, I _do_. But _afterwards_..."

"Do you have anywhere safe to go?"

Zam felt her face grow a little hot, and mumbled "I wouldn't have thought you cared."

She felt him shift weight slightly.

"I still owe you for that dart."

She chuckled. "Well, maybe. And I don't have anywhere, no. Not safe from Dooku."

"Then you had better come with us, hadn't you?"

Zam grinned, suddenly and absurdly happy. Without thinking about the consequences she leant up and kissed him on the cheek.

For a moment Jango looked as though he might run for it, but the emotion went as fast as it came. "Was that payment?"

"Partly," she smiled, nestling nearer, feeling his body heat warm her. Jango didn't object, but let his weight support them both, while she reflected wryly _just like him to face Jedi without fear but panic because of a kiss. _

* * *

Sora Bulq snarled and smashed a fist into the wall with anger, before controlling his anger. Blasted swindling, double-crossing, two-faced _bounty hunters_...

Bulq was debated whether to simple kill them as soon as they came out of the cell, before cursing and letting the idea go. Two deaths right in the middle of the Temple would be noticed no matter how quickly they were done, besides which he had to get hold of the bounty hunters' kid first on Count Dooku's orders. There wasn't any _time_.

Well he had another solution in hand. If Jango Fett thought that he was going to be let anywhere _near_ his son, then he was sadly mistaken. Threatening the little brat would buy Bulq enough time to get them all out of the Temple. After _that_... he would see. If Jango Fett wasn't willing to go any further, then perhaps one of his sons ears lost to a Jedi lightsaber would change his mind for him. Dooku didn't need the boy _whole_ after all.

Composing himself, he walked down to the cell and whispered "bounty hunters."

There was a watchful silence. "The escape is set for tomorrow morning at 03:00. The power will fail for five minutes. I will detonate the diversion and collect the child while you escape and rendezvous at the Temple Spire. There is a corridor that leads from there to the lower levels."

A pause. "We'll be waiting."

Bulq waited for more, but none was forthcoming. He crept back down the hallway to the upper levels, planning how exactly he was going to pull this off.

* * *

"Which spire is the Temple one?" muttered Jango as he watched the Weequay walk away.

"Highest tower, so...um... middle one."

"Not too far to go then." He looked back out to check that Bulq was gone, before turning to Zam with a faint smile. "Good of him to tell us where to escape from."

She grinned back. "Wasn't it just?"

* * *

"How'd it go, Master?" Anakin asked absently as he read over a flimsy he had brought back from the Naboo, the origins of which he was keeping a careful secret.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Moderately unpleasant. It turns out Master Yoda and I might have been wrong about the bounty hunter after all."

His apprentice tried not to look smug. "First time for everything I suppose," he murmured quietly.

* * *

B'brk'ah had made up with Whie finally, and was exploring the eastern gardens with hi when a Jedi being with a face that looked like old leather came up and asked to have a word with him in private. The boy hastily retreated out of earshot, leaving B'brk'ah alone.

"What you wanting?" he asked suspiciously.

The being looked either side of it, before leaning down and lowering its voice. "Your outlander friend who is being held captive is going to escape tonight. Do you want to go with him?"

The uli'ahs' eyes grew wide beneath his mask. "Yes!"

"Good. Take this –" it produced a sphere of polished metal with glowing green symbols on a black screen at the top. "It will wake you when we have to leave. Tell _no-one_ of this, you understand? Or your outlander friend will be captured again, and most probably killed."

B'brk'ah nodded silently, afraid to even speak. The being straightened.

"Good. Remember, come outside as soon as it sounds, and stay close to me. If you become lost the Jedi might kill _you_."

B'brk'ah nodded again, even more afraid. The being left as quickly as it had come.

Whie came back, looking puzzled. "What did he want?"

_Tell no-one._

The uli'ah badly wanted to ask Whie to come with him – he had grown fond of his friend, who was far more calm and able than he was, not to mention helpful. But Whie might tell his Master, or blurt something out, or even refuse to come and ruin the escape.

No, he couldn't risk that. Not with the metal-outlanders' life at stake.

"Nothing," he said, tucking the sphere in his carry pouch, next to K'RruR'or's glow stick. "Nothing much."

* * *

Bulq crept silently down the halls late that night, a package under one arm. He usually stayed up late anyway, so any insomniac Jedi glancing from a window or feeling his presence would assume it was just Master Bulq out for another night time stroll.

He placed the plastic explosives by the main entrance, near the training facilities. The area was deserted, no even the remotes still functional. It was midnight, the Dead Hour, and only the need for stealth and the lateness of the timing was stopping that from becoming true. Sora Bulq had no compunctions about injuring or killing trainees to pull this off.

Hopefully it wouldn't even be necessary. The explosives were only designed as backup if the mission went totally pear-shaped, so they probably wouldn't even be used at all. However, better safe than sorry.

Whatever he did to them would be a picnic compared to what Dooku would do to _him_ if he screwed up.

He pressed the charge in deep, squelching through the goo until it was fixed firmly in place. Then he hurried back to his quarters, to collect his things and make ready for the break out.

* * *

Mace Windu couldn't sleep. The anger and frustration of questioning the bounty hunter, and the stress of being in the first full-scale war in over a thousand years had kept him awake, pacing his room or seated in a futile attempt to meditate, until he finally gave in to his instincts and went out of his room, heading for the holding cells.

There was something up tonight, it was in the air, and he would bet his lightsaber that the bounty hunter was at the bottom of it somehow.

He scowled as he thought of the stubborn silence Masters Tiin and Maruk had reported. Not for one moment did he think it down to honour, or some obscure code – this was a _bounty hunter_. The only code they had was bank codes.

No, Jango Fett _knew_ something, something to do with Dooku. Something important enough for him to keep from Jedi under continuous questioning and mind probes.

Mace wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure of one thing. Anything Jango Fett wanted to keep from Jedi was something they needed to know about.

* * *

Sora Bulq cursed when he saw Mace Windu stalking towards the holding cells. What in Force's name was the man doing up at this hour! And at _this_ particular hour!

The Weequay dithered for a moment, wondering what in the Forces' name he was going to do. He didn't want to go toe-to-toe with Windu, the very person who had taught him the lightsaber form he used. He had a realistic view of his abilities.

An idea struck him, and without thinking about it he acted at once.

* * *

B'brk'ah had barely been able to sleep at all in the cramped quarters Caudle had provided for him, those that should have been his apprentices' if his apprentice wasn't away taking care of the injured in the escalating skirmishes in the Outer Rim.

Thoughts kept skittering around his head, thoughts of what was going to happen when they got away from the Temple. Would he ever see Whie again? Or Anakin or his mate Padmé? Where would they go? Back to his home rock-ball-planet? Or to the watery planet in his dreams?

He frowned. Why had he thought of that? He wasn't even sure it was real.

But that was just it, the thing that made him follow the metal-outlander without question rather than stay with Obi-Wan, who was nice enough, or Whie, who was even better. Something about the outlander caught his attention and made him feel... strange. As if he had eaten a sandfly while it was still alive and wriggly. He wrinkled his nose at the icky thought and tried to calm down.

Eventually he had fallen asleep through sheer exhaustion, only to be woken by a beeping sound that made his hair stand on end. Yelping and knocking it over in his haste, he muffled the sound with blankets until it finally stopped. Then he got up – still fully dressed – and hurried to the door, opening it quietly. Checking all was quiet, he went back to fetch Bandy and his gaderafi, before tiptoeing gently out and into the deserted hall.

No, not deserted. B'brk'ah froze. _There was someone there!_

A leathery hand grabbed his mouth guard and pulled him into a shadowy alcove. "Wait here," it hissed, before striding out and greeting the cloaked figure.

* * *

Mace looked up as he heard a low voice call out "Master Windu!"

"Master Bulq," he said in surprise. "What are you doing up?"

The Weequay looked agitated. "I saw someone sneaking around the front entrance as I was walking, but they went away so I decided to go back to bed."

"You saw someone near the front entrance? Who?"

"I'm not sure, it was dark, and they were wearing a cloak." He hesitated, looking nervous. "I didn't want to wake anyone at this obscene hour, but I felt suspicious of them – whoever they were."

Mace felt his forehead furrow, but inside a voice whispered _aha_. Maybe allies of the two bounty hunters, trying to set up an escape – or a diversion. He knew he ought to send Master Bulq back to check again, but the Weequay looked tired and nervy, and so he relented. "Go back to bed. I'll look into it."

Sora nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Master Windu."

Mace waved away the gratitude and started for the entrance, the rush of battle filling his

veins. Tonight was the night when this would get sorted out. He could _feel_ it.

* * *

B'brk'ah saw the Jedi with the leather skin and braids breath out in relief as the other one went away. He got the feeling a disaster had just been averted.

It turned towards him and beckoned him out quietly. "Listen, I am Sora Bulq. I am going to go somewhere and make the power turn off. This means it will get dark, but don't be afraid. It's part of the escape plan."

B'brk'ah nodded, saying in broken Basic, "I understand."

"Good. Wait here until I get back and don't come out for anyone. If you get caught, say you were exploring."

Without another word he left, running down and into the gardens, towards the Sacred Spire."

The uli'ah huddled down, his gut twisted in worried knots. He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

"I have a bad feeling about this," Zam muttered as they waited impatiently.

"Don't turn into a Jedi on me," Jango warned half-jokingly.

"No fears _there_. I wouldn't know the Force if it bit me on the arse..."

"Shush." He held up a hand and she stopped talking at once. "Listen."

A juddering noise had started up, and a faint, descending hum. The lights flickered on and off like a fluttering heartbeat, before the hums died away, and darkness fell. Zam reached out and gently slid back the door.

"He actually did it," she whispered with astonishment.

Jango pushed past her and up towards the entrance. "If we don't get out quickly it'll be wasted. Come on!"

Sora Bulq had been true to his word, leaving a pair of DT-57s, which Jango was surprised at, as they were expensive and packed a serious punch. Checking they were loaded and ready, he put his armour on with considerable relief, before hesitating with his jetpack.

Blasted thing had almost got him _killed_...

On the other hand it still had missiles in it, which were useful around Jedi. He put it on, looked at Zam to check she was ready, and started to run up the stairs to freedom.

* * *

Mace poked around the entrance, noticing disturbance in the dust by one of the pillars and scuff marks at the base surrounding a slight depression that had been carefully chipped into the stonework. He reached in and pulled out a package, his heart growing cold as he looked inside.

_Plastic explosives,_ and placed where a single detonation could bring down the pillar and half the entrance along with it. He swore and dropped it, reaching for his lightsaber as he pulled out the detonator and slagged it with one jab of the tip. He was just standing up with a satisfied feeling when suddenly all of the lights flickered and died. Mace spun with a curse.

A power failure? Could this be a coincidence?

_No_. It was far too convenient for a twist of fate; most of the Temple being asleep, two dangerous criminals locked up below, a strange figure reported around the entrance and explosives found in the same area... this stunk of a plan, and a plan to escape at that.

Those blasted bounty hunters!

Mace Windu ran at full speed back to the Tower, hoping he wasn't already too late.

* * *

B'brk'ah looked up as he heard the clatter of armoured footsteps, and completely forgot Sora Bulq's warning when he saw who was charging up out of the holding area, leaping up and waving his gaderafi. The outlanders stopped and sped towards him, his metal-clad friend in the lead.

"Why are you alone? Where's the Weequay?" it demanded.

"I not sure," he stammered, starting to feel frightened at the tone of its voice, "he went to put off lights."

The other one – who looked at him quizzically, provoking more strange squirmy feelings – looked at them both and said "aren't you going to tell him?"

The metal-outlander looked ill at ease. "Is it the right time?"

"Right enough I should think," it answered with a raised eyebrow. B'brk'ah looked at them both and snickered, thinking of Anakin and Padmé. That one was _definitely_ female.

The metal-outlander sucked in a breath as if injured, but was interrupted by his companion. "Here he comes."

Sure enough B'brk'ah turned to see Sora Bulq running towards the group, his face screwed up in the outlander angry-expression. He was almost there when B'brk'ah, glancing around, saw something and almost shrieked in shock. The purple-fire Jedi was running up towards them!

He pointed the stick down towards the entrance.

"_Outlander_!"

* * *

Sora Bulq swore as he saw Windu charging up towards the bounty hunters. What _else_ could go wrong? Half the Temple would probably arrive now!

Maybe the Force was with him, or the dark side granted luck, because an idea struck him just as Windu ignited his lightsaber, still running.

He shouted out, jumping and grabbing Boba as he did so. "They're after the child!"

Jango Fett spun on him with fury, but Windu, acting at once, swept down the lightsaber in a dazzling arc, blocking the bounty hunters shot. As Sora ran for the gardens with the screeching Tusken, hearing a yell of pain and pure rage echo down behind him.

Then the plant life swallowed them, leaving only silence.


	24. Chapter 24

The Mandalorian spun and shot three times in desperate haste, each one deflected until Windu was almost level, and that would have been the end of it if Zam hadn't joined in, pointing her blaster at the Jedi at the exact same moment as her partner. For a moment all three were frozen, locked in a crystal of time as they wondered what to do next.

Jango couldn't believe it. He had been this close to getting out of this bloody, star-forsaken heap of shit, and now he had to cope with some _di'kutla_ Jedi playing the hero while his son was kidnapped by a darksider!

He glared with venom at the Jedi in question. "You _bastard_."

Windu didn't even blink. "The feeling is mutual."

Zam took off a shot, yelping as the deflected shot came back her head. Windu jumped impossible high, sweeping his lightsaber in an amethyst fan that only narrowly missed her head, while Jango yelled "_duck_!"

The Clawdite did so at once, throwing herself to the floor as two metres of flame streamed over her head. The trick of killing Jedi, he had found, was to avoid hand-to-hand combat whenever possible. Flame throwers were useful for that.

Windu leapt again, coming down almost on top of him, but Jango had expected that. _Always assume they know as much as you do._

He grabbed the Jedi's wrist as the blade arched towards his skull, keeping it hovering just in front of his eyes. The situation had an uncomfortable familiarity to it, and he realised with a sense of irony that this had been _exactly_ what Montross had been doing when he had been trying to kill the murdering bastard.

It was not a nice thought.

Windu snarled almost like his predecessor. "Give it up, bounty hunter. You're outclassed."

Jango looked over the Jedi's shoulder. "Oh really?"

Windu half-turned as Zam fired at them both, the Jedi deflecting the bolt with nothing but his mind, leaving a flicker of concentration that opened up a whole new _range_ of possibilities...

Which Jango took advantage of at once.

He twisted Windu's wrist to the side, bending the blade away from himself, before ducking his helmet and _pulling_.

There was a satisfying crunch, and the Jedi dropped with blood streaming from his mouth and chin. Out cold.

Zam looked down at him with something like awe, before unexpectedly sniggering. "You enjoyed that, I swear."

"A little," Jango admitted let his vision focus before heading into the gardens at a run, Zam following apprehensively.

Behind them Windu lay, dead to the world.

* * *

B'brk'ah tugged and kicked at his captor, thrashing with his gaderafi until that was pulled out of his hands and thrown away, then setting about the outlander with his fists. He had understood enough of what had been shouted back there to know his friend and its partner were in trouble – maybe the biggest ever.

Maybe even big enough to get killed in.

He grabbed hold of a thin branch from a passing tree with blue-green leaves as they started to emerge on the other side, whipping back his captor with the shock of it. Grimly he held on as it pulled and snarled outlander words he could only assume were impolite.

Sora Bulq shouted something incomprehensible, before whipping out a blade of azure fire and swinging it through the branch. The limb came away in B'brk'ah's hand, still glowing, and the tip of the blade swept towards his eye tubes. He felt the eyes behind them widen.

"If you don't come with me I will chop off an arm," the leathery being snarled, "got it?"

He nodded silently, not daring to speak.

Sora Bulq said nothing more, but set off towards the edge of the gardens again, dragging the terrified boy behind him.

* * *

The Weequay could sense the bounty hunters getting closer, and the feeling was not a welcome one. He wasn't sure if he could kill them both quickly enough to have a chance of escaping – already he could feel some in the Temple stirring, sleep blurring their thoughts for the moment, but not forever. If something else happened everything would fail.

He pulled the detonator out of his pocket as they ran up the stairs, waiting a moment before swearing and throwing it away. Windu must have found the bomb.

How, _how_ could everything go so _wrong_?

He ran further up and into one of the wide hallways, knowing he couldn't take the original route. Fortunately for a Jedi there were other options...

* * *

"Master Windu? Master Windu!"

Mace struggled back to consciousness, reaching down and feeling for a crack in his jaw. To his great surprise there was none.

"Master Windu!"

He opened his eyes, seeing a blurred version of Obi-Wan Kenobi staring down at him. The Jedi Master looked worried.

"Master Windu, what _happened_?"

"Fett," he mumbled through a swollen tongue, before gathering the Force and standing up shakily. "They've _escaped_."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "They took the child? He wasn't in his bed..."

"No, Sora Bulq has him, but..." Mace trailed off, reaching out and sensing something that chilled him. "They're chasing after them!"

"After wh–?"

Mace didn't stop to explain, but raced into the gardens shouting "I know where to cut them off!"

Obi-Wan followed with a puzzled frown, but also with a drawn lightsaber and a feeling that things might be about to get serious.

* * *

"He's going up," Jango said, scanning with his helmet HUD. He sounded a little puzzled. Up there the Jedi would become trapped against the roof, eventually. What was he up to?

Zam was just as bewildered. "Why would he do that?"

"Let's see." As they raced for the stairs he uploaded a recent map of the Temple grounds and site, searching for answers. "Nothing I can... _shit_."

He doubled his speed, leaving Zam to gasp behind him "what? What's wrong?"

"The Temple Hangers!" Jango took the stairs two at a time. "He's going to try and _fly_ out!"

* * *

Sora Bulq could feel his lungs aching, but he didn't dare stop. Fortunately the child had stopped trying to break free and was following quietly, helped no doubt by the sight of his drawn lightsaber.

_There_ was the door, leading up the roof and the hanger bays. Thank the Force he had remembered them just in time, although not soon enough to save himself a journey. But at least he was almost there, just drawing near...

The Tusken child looked over its shoulder and shouted something in its own language that sounded triumphant. Sora followed suit and felt a sting of terror.

_Those blasted bounty hunters!_

One, the female, shot at him, and he deflected it with a flash of blue. As the woman dropped, knocked backwards into unconsciousness by the force of the bolt, his charge shrieked and kicked his leg, making him lose his grip momentarily. He quickly recovered and grabbed it by its mask, which slipped off in his hand. Cursing he pulled it back by its collar, but by now Jango Fett was almost on him, and he had to run again.

Shouts echoed down the cavernous hallway and he looked up with joy. There were Masters Windu and Kenobi! Slightly out of breath but both with drawn lightsabers, and he could see _other_ Jedi drawn by the commotion starting to appear at both ends and in the spacious foyer on the other side of the windows, little black specks looking up at the drama hundreds of feet above them.

It was stroke of luck, he had to admit, that they would come just at the right moment. Of course they would go for the bounty hunter, and he might be able to escape in the commotion...

But the child put paid to that idea, screaming at the top of his lungs in Huttese "_Bad man!_ He gonna chop my arm off!"

Windu and Kenobi hesitated, held in place by the sheer terror in Boba's voice and the sight of the drawn lightsaber. Sora realised that they wouldn't be fooled.

He pulled the maskless boy towards him and held the lightsaber against his neck. "_Don't come any nearer_!"

* * *

Jango's heart almost stopped when he saw the lightsaber swing down._ Oh no, not again, please don't let me lose him again..._

Kenobi, his eyes wide, stepped cautiously towards the Weequay. "Sora, what are you doing?"

Bulq didn't answer, but still held Boba close as Jango twitched, the azure blade trembling slightly as he faced the bounty hunter. "Back away! Back away or he loses his head!"

Jango raised his pistol, saying in a deadly tone "I don't think so."

Windu flicked a glance at Jango, scowling as he turned back on the Weequay. "It won't work on him. You'll only be _damaging goods_."

Bulq laughed harshly. "Master Windu, I never had you for a fool. Fett would shoot _himself_ before harm came to this brat."

Jango froze, willing the ex-Jedi to stop there._ Don't you dare, don't you dare now, not like this..._

Kenobi kept his hands apart in a negotiators gesture, his voice calming. "Why do you say that?"

Sora Bulq looked at them both, before laughing again, sharp teeth catching the light of the now-lit Temple. "Oh, the irony of me saying this... Master Kenobi, this boy is_ Boba Fett_. He is Jango Fett's _son_."

* * *

_Son_.

B'brk'ah heard the words and felt himself ride on the crest of them, until he stood at the top of it like he had stood on the top of a dune once, looking down on his home tribe – what a joke! _His_ tribe! – and seeing the suns set. His first instinct was to scream that the outlander was a liar, a filthy liar, but in his heart of hearts he knew, and he had always known.

_Son_.

He felt his world slide away, slipping like the sand had under his feet until he was falling, falling forever, the rush of his past in his ears, into a white-walled bedroom, with a bed with a navy quilt cover, rain beating at the windows and lights in the sky. Into fear and desperation and lost hope.

_Son._

A memory of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, eyes that held pride and love, who had played with him and hugged him when he was frightened and told him the Story each night. His father. His father, who he had thought was dead, but he had never died, he was standing _right there_, and he was _alive_...

_Jango Fett's son. _

Not B'brk'ah. Boba Fett.

He was Boba Fett.

* * *

Mace felt the revelation like a concussion shock, blowing away his preconceptions, his ideas, and his _prejudice_ in one wave, leaving him gasping. _His son. _

Obi-Wan said cautiously, "We were told he was only ever an apprentice... a clone..."

Master Bulq – should he still be called _master_? – shook his head, callously amused. "If you had had the sense to ask Count Dooku, he would have told you otherwise. How Little Boba was raised as a son to Fett... how he _loved_ him..." the Weequay spat out _loved_ as though it was poison.

Bulq carried on. "... and when the brat was kidnapped, how the bounty hunter was mad with grief at the loss..."

A snarl from the bounty hunter in question stopped him, and he drew back as Fett raised his pistol. The lightsaber jerked, and Fett went as still as stone.

Mace shook his head, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. He had been so sure, so _sure_... this was a _bounty hunter_ they were talking about...

He looked at Jango Fett and felt the last of his doubts melt away.

The bounty hunter, in complete contrast to how he had been in the cells – cool, composed, and collected – was a turbulence of dread and fierce, frightened anger, and...

_Say it. To be a Jedi is to face the truth. _

And _love_.

Mace Windu looked from the bounty hunter to his old student, and knew that he had made a terrible mistake. The evil here was not in the hired killer, but in the liar, the kidnapper, the deceitful enemy... in_ Sora Bulq._ In his _friend_.

How could he have gotten this so completely and utterly wrong?

Obi-Wan was no less shocked than he was, but remained calm. "Sora... whoever he is, he is still just a_ child_. Let him go. We promise you won't be hurt."

Bulq spat. "A Jedi's promise is worth nothing."

_A Jedi's promise. Like he no longer thinks of himself as one. _

Mace thought that was fine by him. He angled his lightsaber up and away, tensed and ready for Bulq's guard to drop. It had to sooner or later, and _then_...

A presence grew in his mind, like the warmth of the sun on bare skin, and he almost smiled in relief. Yoda was coming.

Sora Bulq felt it as well, but he was less than happy. As the familiar green-skinned figure tapped its way up the stairs and into the corridor, his eyes widened in horror and he snarled "no!"

He swung the child around.

Mace realised what he was about to do and jumped forward, but far, far too late, as with one decisive Force Push Bulq sent Boba Fett smashing through the windows and into the air three hundred feet above the hallway below.

* * *

Jango Fett watched, frozen in his own nightmare, as his son was swung away from and pushed. _No, no, it's not fair, I was going to save him, we were going to be a family, it can't happen again..._

_They always take everything from me..._

"_No_!" he howled, not knowing he was saying it out loud. "Not this time!"

He ran.

Behind him he heard Zam, now recovered from her stunning, screaming his name, he heard Kenobi shout for him stop, he even heard that blasted arrogant Windu start forward, but he wasn't listening. He only _decided_.

He decided he wasn't going to lose anyone he cared about ever again.

Boba was halfway through the window when he reached the lip, and he was still hanging in the air when Jango jumped, and grabbed his son in midair.

For a moment there was a moment of eternal silence, before gravity took hold and they fell.

Jango saw the walls blur as he twisted himself around, positioning himself underneath his son. If he hit the ground first they was a chance Boba might walk away from this, that he might be _alright_...

Air whipped past them both as he closed his eyes and held on tight. _Forgive me, Boba. I didn't want to leave you like this. I'm sorry. I love you. _

The fall... stopped.

Momentarily, before continuing again, at a much slower pace. At a _survivable_ pace.

Jango opened his eyes. Above him Mace Windu, face twisted in concentration, was holding out a stiff hand that trembled with tension. Beside him a green-skinned figure looked down on them both, a hundred and fifty feet below, before giving a knowing smile and holding out his own hand.

The fall slowed even more, so that when they finally touched the ground it was as light as a feather, and as gentle. And wasted, as Jango's legs gave way as soon as he felt the ground beneath them. Half of him had been left behind and was still floating in the air a hundred feet above the floor.

Boba hugged him, petrified. He hugged back.

There was a collective sigh of relief, and Jedi started to gather around them. Above he heard the swish-hum of lightsabers, Zam shouting incomprehensibly, shouts and curses and the clatter of running footsteps. He didn't care. His son was safe. Zam was safe. They were _all_ safe.

Nothing else mattered.

Boba stirred and looked up at him with a deathly pale face, his hair spiked in peaks and horns in some places but flattened in others, his eyes holding a question so profound that Jango could only nod, and now, with his little boy in his arms and still safe, still whole, no-one around to listen, he knew he could say what he had never said.

"I missed you so much."

Boba nodded seriously, and said "missed you, Dad."

* * *

Jango turned away and Boba reached up to touch his face with wonder. Droplets were condensing under his eyes, running down his face, and he was making choking sounds as though he had been injured, terribly so. Why was his father wasting water like that?

Then he wiped his own eyes and realised he was doing the same thing.


	25. Chapter 25

Jango was never sure afterwards how long he sat there, unwilling to move in case something terrible happened, but eventually the Jedi above gave up the chase and came down. The tired look on Kenobi's face told him all he needed to know about Bulq.

Zam ran over, a fist-sized dent in her chest armour, and helped him stand up. "That bastard got away, he was already flying by the time we made it up there..." she saw he was trembling and looked concerned. "Are you alright? Here, I'll take him..."

Jango shook his head and backed off a bit. A Wookiee with a crowbar and a gallon of engine lube wouldn't have pried Boba from his arms at that moment.

Windu looked grim – as always – but also relieved, if haggard. Maybe floating people did that to you.

"I think," the Jedi Master said slowly, "that I owe you an apology."

Jango looked at him a long time, his brain finally catching up with exactly what had happened. The Jedi had saved his life. Both their lives.

_Blast_. He looked at the three of them. _Why did it have to be _Jedi

On the other hand a life was a life, and Windu in all fairness could have killed him on Geonosis easily enough. Maybe this settled Galidraan a little. Just a little.

"You," he told the Jedi, "are an idiot."

Windu didn't move a muscle. "I know."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Zam blinked and looked at them both. "I should have caught that on holocam..."

"Shut up."

"Sir?"

Jango looked down, his heart clenching. Boba was looking up at him, his face solemn, but his lower lip trembling.

The boy-uli'ah looked down and then up again, his expression fierce. "Why you never come?"

It hurt, far worse than anything before, because the question was one he could never answer. He had turned his back on his son. He had _given up_. On his _son_.

"I... I'm sorry." He had to say it in Basic; the Hutts had no such word. "I thought... the ship was destroyed... I thought you were dead..."

He tilted his head, _yes, exactly the same way I do_, before nodding slowly. "I think you were too."

"I'm sorry." He could never say it enough. He would say it the rest of his life if he had to. "If you want... if you want to stay here, if you don't want to come with me..."

"You being stupid. Wanna go with you." His son smiled, a tired, happy smile, and said "always did."

* * *

The outlander in the purple bodysuit and the strange armour grinned wearily and stepped forward. "You might not remember me, but... I'm called Zam. You used to know me."

Boba looked at her, trying to remember. "You changed," he said slowly in Huttese, "you always change."

She chuckled softly. "Yes, I do that."

"I know." He reached out and held her hand. "You two gonna be mates now?"

Jango blinked and Zam grinned wolfishly. "Maybe, kid. But you shouldn't have said that, he might get scared off."

"Oh." Boba looked up at his dad and tried to convey reassurance by eyes alone, since he didn't know the outlander way. "You not have to do it now. Just soon."

"We'll see." His fathers' voice sounded a bit strangled. Zam's grin got wider, and smugger.

"Good." He remembered KReu'Ar and Ur'Uruuga, but they were dead now, and although he would miss them every day he had a father and mother right here. He couldn't let them slip away.

"Like a mama," he said in Basic, hugging close to his father – _his father!_ – and copying the outlander happy twisty-face. "Mama and Dad."

A lot of water was wasted that day, but he didn't care.

* * *

Of course, things are never so neat.

Jango had sat there, holding his son with Zam beside him, for a long while. But eventually it had fallen to Mace Windu to remind those present that it was late at night, and one of the beings present should really be in bed.

Jango had heard the undercurrent in the words, and the silent reminder. _You are still our prisoner. _

He couldn't bring himself to care about this, or to fight, so he had taken Boba back to his room himself and tucked him in. As the Jedi waited impatiently outside and Zam had sat down beside him, he had told Boba the Story, watching as the exhausted boy had fallen asleep halfway, before slipping Bandy down beside him and going out quietly.

Kenobi had taken one look at his face and said "we will be staying up for the rest of the night. My room is right next door."

Jango could only nod his thanks, too tired to tell the Jedi that the last thing he was going to do tonight was sleep. He staggered into the room – bare and austere as his quarters on Kamino – and sat down with his blaster ready and his HUD primed. Zam had silently followed him.

There was a long silence. Jango stared at the door and mentally dared Sora Bulq to come back and try again. He felt the need to kill someone tonight.

"Jango," said Zam finally, sounding slightly nervous, but resolute, "Jango you know what Boba... what he said...is it true?"

"Do you think it is?"

"Well." She swallowed. "For me... yeah. For me it's true. But I wasn't sure..."

He waited patiently while she stumbled on. "I didn't... I couldn't tell... if it was true for you..."

"It is."

Her eyes widened, and became filled with wonder. "It _is_? But you never said..."

"Neither did you."

"Yeah well," she said, laughing harshly and looking back down at her boots, "I didn't want you to go and lose someone else so soon. It seemed... safer."

"It was. But there is enough danger now for the risk to be worth taking." He paused and added softly, "we have taken risks before."

She smiled and nestled close again, her face peaceful. "Yeah. And this could be the one most worth it."

* * *

When Boba woke the next morning his father was gone, and Zam was standing guard by the edge of his bed, with the air of someone who had done this before.

"Where Dad?" he asked sleepily.

"The Jedi came in and... nah, he's alright." She must have seen his horrified look. "They just wanted to talk with him."

"What for?"

"It's complicated. Look, they got us some clothes –"

"What they got him for?!"

Zam sighed and shifted the pile of outlander clothes of his bed to sit down on the end. Boba tried not to think how embarrassing it was to talk with someone when you weren't wearing a mask. "It's about the war that's on at the moment. Your Dad knows some things they want to know –"

"Whie said to me for that. But he _tell_ them."

"Um, well... no. He is now, but before... it's a long story. But he's telling them now so he'll probably get set free today with us."

"Oh. Good." He finally looked at the clothes. "What those for?"

"You." She saw his jaw drop and added hastily, "We have to stay hidden for a bit, just until the war is over. So you'll have to pretend to be normal."

"Normal-outlander? Why?"

"It's a long story again, but it's to do with your Dad telling the Jedi about those things. Because he is, we're going to be in danger, and we can't fight _everyone_, so we'll just have to hide for a while."

She had been speaking so fast Boba had barely been able to pick up the rapid Huttese, what he had heard didn't worry him much. He was Ghorfa, and Ghorfa were always in danger.

Besides, Dad would be there.

* * *

Jango was feeling less confident about the future, but he was still prepared to risk it.

He had told them all he knew of Dooku, albeit that wasn't nearly as much as they would have liked. You Did Not Inform On A Client was all very well, but Jango had very specific feelings about clients who tried to have his son and himself killed or worse. And there was one piece of information that had surprised them.

"Are you sure?" Windu asked sharply.

Jango suppressed a mild exasperation. "Yes. It was Dooku who contacted me on Bogden. They are the same person."

"A Sith Lord," Kenobi murmured.

_Who cares? _Jango thought. Jedi or Sith... as far as he was concerned the only difference was a preference in lightsaber colour. Besides that you just had one set of arrogant, robed Force-users posturing in front of another group of arrogant, robed Force-users.

"Any more to say, have you?" asked Yoda.

"No," said Jango with a trace of impatience, "Not unless you want to discuss Sora Bulq at greater length, which I doubt."

Kenobi winced slightly, and looked at Windu, who was as expressionless as ever. Hecleared his throat, speaking before something unpleasant happened.

"Ah, um, what did Master Tiin say to you before what would happen if you, ah, confessed?"

"Cut prison sentence, yes."

"Um, some of the Council," said Kenobi, very careful not to look at Mace Windu, "felt that you should be sent to Oovo IV,but in light of what has happened we thought a bit differently."

Luckily for them. Life or no life, anyone trying to send him to a prison planet would soon out _why_ he alone had survived Galidraan. And killed a great many Jedi with his bare hands to do so.

He had survived that. He could survive this.

"Since Dooku will still be after you, we could provide protection..."

"No."

"You will be in danger."

"I always am."

"What wish you, then, hmm?" Yoda leaned forward with interest.

"To be left alone." He could think of nothing else to say. "Just to be left alone. That's all."

The three exchanged looks. Windu spoke for them all. "I think we can agree on that."

* * *

"Hey, squirt, I've got something for you."

Boba – packing what he had left, which was not much – looked around and grinned from ear to ear. "Anakin!"

Anakin smiled at the boys' delighted tone and proffered what he was carrying. Boba gave another cry of happiness and took the old Tusken Cycler rifle from the Jedi Padawan, hefting its weight and checking it for rust with a keen eye.

"Padmé gave it to me; I had to run from her apartment to get it y..." He trailed off and coughed. "Anyway, you're definitely going with him, squirt?"

Boba looked up from his packing and nodded silently. Anakin grimaced.

"Rather you than me."

"He save my life," Boba told him sharply.

"Master Windu did, you mean." Anakin snickered evilly. "Seeing them apologise to each other was the best thing that's happened since Geonosis."

His companion just shook his head and grabbed the returned rifle, before picking up his scuffed kitbag and slinging it over his shoulder. They started to walk outside.

"You mate, she good?"

Anakin choked and made a strangled sound. "_Hrm_?"

"Padmé."

"How did you kn–?" Anakin narrowed his eyes, and said "_did_ you know?"

"Know what?"

"Never mind," he said quickly as they walked down the spacious corridor to the entrance hall. "But you should know that Jedi don't, er, mate. Ever."

Boba looked as though he had been told Jedi flew on Geonosian wings to eat the stars. "_Never_?"

"No way, no how," Anakin confirmed with a faint blush.

Boba fell into a stunned silence, to Anakin's eternal thanks. Things were really complicated enough right now. He had broken the greatest rule of the Order, and although he knew he should he couldn't make himself feel any regret. He loved her. Even a _Tusken_ could see that.

Or a probably Tusken. Anakin wasn't sure what the kid was now, anymore than he knew what was going to happen to him and his wife...

It was strange, the way things turned out, how situations could so suddenly and completely turn themselves around. The Republic had been at peace, and now it was at war. He had rescued a Tusken, only to find they were human. A pair of bounty hunters had tried to kill Padmé, only for at least one of them to be released that very day.

In a galaxy where things like this could happen, he mused, maybe there was room for them.

* * *

Zam was almost pacing, he human face shifting in unpleasant ways due to stress. The three humans and one Clawdite had gathered on the front steps, dwarfed by the statues around them, and all of them were starting to feel a little on edge. Whie was watching her with wide-eyed apprehension, obviously slightly unnerved by the presence of the changeling bounty hunter.

"This is so weird," he muttered to his friend. "You being his son and her going with you."

Boba shrugged. "Grown-ups _are_ weird."

"Do you think it will work?" Whie looked apprehensive. "I mean... he's not exactly _nice_..."

Boba stared at him. Was he _stupid_? "He jumps into big drop for me and save me from monster in fight. How nice he have to _be_?"

"Well, yes I suppose..."

Besides, although Boba hadn't told his friend about this, he didn't understand how a Jedi in training could comment on niceness. He had heard from Obi-Wan how children were taken at young ages to train, and Anakin had told him that they weren't allowed to mate, or have children themselves. It seemed pretty rich them saying that his father, who had almost gotten himself killed for Boba on several occasions, was worse than them at looking after him.

"He Dad," he added firmly in Basic, knowing he couldn't put his other thoughts into words. "Just Dad. Dad enough."

Whie looked out over the city, the morning light so bright it drove away all of the shadows. "I wonder if mine would do that for me," he said softly.

Boba didn't answer. He couldn't understand how any parent could let someone like Whie or Anakin be taken away from them by Jedi. He was sure his dad would never let that happen. But then, sometimes he thought he would never understand outlanders... even if he was one.

Four more figure emerged from the Temple into the hot sunlight, and Anakin sighed with relief. Zam stopped pacing. "_Finally_."

Boba stood up with a smile as his dad drew near, shouldering his kitbag and rifle and feeling at least a centimetre taller under Jango's approving smile. "All made up minds?"

Jango nodded. Like Zam and Boba himself he was dressed in cast-off street clothing (although Boba had refused to give up his bantha horn charm), his armour carefully hidden, and he looked a little strange to his sons' eyes. But a warrior wasn't defined by their armour.

Zam had told him that. She had taken Boba aside before she had left and explained some things about his father's armour and why he wore it. Boba had been bright enough to draw similarities between the Mandalorians and the Ghorfa, and felt proud he could belong to both.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Your, ah, ship was taken into custody and impounded, but we spoke with the Eastport dock master and he said he would have it waiting in docking bay 2123."

Boba didn't understand a word, so he was glad that his dad answered for them all. "Good of him."

"Probably founded by a healthy concern for his skin," Anakin quipped nastily. Whie looked scared as Jango turned towards the Padawans.

"Something to say?"

Anakin scowled. "I still haven't forgotten you two tried to kill Padmé. _And_ you took us to Dooku to be put on trial..."

Obi-Wan frowned mightily and opened his mouth to reprimand his apprentice, but Zam got there first.

"On the other hand, kid, you two owe _me_ a speeder and an arm, so why don't we call it quits, hm?"

Boba saw his dad look at the floor and struggle to keep a straight face as Anakin spluttered. "Well, er, I, er..."

"He means yes, we will," his master added with a glower in Anakin's direction. Boba saw Windu look at the ground as well, and he suddenly thought how alike the purple-fire Jedi and his dad were. He was sensible enough to keep this quiet, however.

"To what place will you go, to hide from Dooku, hmm?" Yoda looked thoughtful as he studied the two Jedi, but he soon switched his attention to the trio with their bags and various weapons.

"The fewer who know about it the better. But I know places."

"An apology as well, we owe you."

Zam cocked her head as Jango's voice grew cold. "Don't say you're sorry. It won't bring them back."

"An apology, there still should be," said Yoda, his eyes watchful. "Indebted we are for our mistake."

Jango shook his head. "If the Force is all you claim it to be, then it will make sure what goes around comes around."

Yoda bowed slightly. "Thought, we did, that say that you would. But wondered did we."

Boba only caught half of the Basic words, and felt a little frustrated. Why did the Jedi have to talk so _weird_?

"I might have answered differently before. But I have other things to consider now." Boba felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up at his Dad with a smile. "I spent too much time before letting the past rule me, and it returned to haunt me for that. I won't make that mistake again."

He regarded the Jedi narrowly, his son by his side and Zam coming up to hold his hand. Boba thought he caught a jealous light in Anakin's eye for a moment.

"I will never forget Galidraan, or the ones I lost there," Jango said, deadly soft, "but I'm not prepared to lose everything again for a memory. Some day the Mandalorians will be strong again, but to do that we have to stay alive and bring it about. And we will."

"We look forward to the day," Windu told him.

Jango almost smiled. "Trust me, when we _are_... the Jedi will be the first to know."

With that he turned and walked out into the sunlight, with his partner and his child.


End file.
